Amaranth
by Enchantable
Summary: Post 5x13. "This is about two brothers who loved each other and betrayed each other". Michael comes to earth to work with Gabriel to prevent the end of the world. But will the secrets between the two brothers bring them together or tear them apart?
1. Chapter 1

**Okay so this could kind of be seen as a precursor to my fic "Dominus Tecum" which is a Dean/Jo/Archangel extravaganza but it can also stand alone. THis season of supernatural has just been awesome and I have a sibling so I love the big brother-little brother relationship. (I'm the big) But I wanted to show a bit of the relationship in my head between Michael and Gabriel. Because Gabriel's awesome and Michael was too. **

**

* * *

  
**

The decrepitness of the place brought a smile to his lips.

Looking at the worn down building, Michael coudn't help but be amused. Of all the countless exotic places he could be, of all the hundreds of manisons he could have bought, he had chosen a small, run down apartment building in the middle of a small, nondescript town. Despite the building looking old, Michael had no doubt that he had not been there very long--nor would he remain in sucha place. He had always had a nomadic streak in him. It would have been easier if he still had wings, but Michael had no doubt he would be more than capable of flying wherever he wished to go. No wings, but no bonds either. No burdens to drag him down or keep him in one place. In a strange way, Michael envied him for his freedom. Him standing there was done on borrowed time. Mary Winchester was unconscious in bed and soon John Winchester would need to be back with her, both their memories gone. But for this night, for this moment, Michael had found a way to walk the earth without bringing harm to a Vessel unable to contain his powers.

Slowly Michael walked up to the door of the building. A quick turn of the worn brass handle revealed it to be unlocked. A smile pulled at his lips. He should have known that caution would have no place here. Opening the door, he stepped into a hallway that looked more like something out of a nightmare than he would have thought. Still even in the flicker of the sickly yellow light, the blues and greens of the wall were familiar, comforting even. Michael stepped foward, not caring at the sound John Winchester's worn boots made againts the cheap concrete of the floor. Three steps took him to a door, also unlocked. Opening it, Michael stepped into a small staircase. There was no light in this room but that did not bother him as he made his way up the steep, narrow stairs, taking care to avoid the broken banister. Large injuries would be easy for him to heal but he did not wish to pick splinters out of John Winchester's fingers. Arriving on the third floor, Michael pushed open the door to reveal an almost identical hallway. On this floor he could hear the faint echo of a tv and smell something cooking. Knowing he was in the right place, Michael let the door swing gently shut behind him.

He heard movement down the hall in an almost immediate response to the door shutting. It would have been easy to use his powers to get there undetected but that was not why he was there. He wanted to be detected, wanted to be known by the reason he was there. Though if he had gotten up a hallway and through a staircase without altering them to his presence, then something was not right. A cold knot settled in his stomach. What if he was hurt? Or what if Lucifer or one of the other Demons had gotten to him first? He had faith in his Brother but it had been so long since he had been in Heaven, long enough that his once formidible skils may have laxed. And if they did, while their Father was gone and they were in the middle of the War to end all Wars, then he very well could be in trouble. Before Michael could step forward, before he could close the distance between them either on foot or by his power, the figure emerged from an open doorway at the end of the hall. Disheveled was one way to describe him, possibly drunk was another. Dressed in shorts and a white t-shirt, to any passerby he would have looked like a man one would expect to find the place they both stood.

But to Michael, who had not laid eyes on him in hundreds of years, he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Relief melted the ice in his stomach as surprise shown on his features. Vessels did their purpose but for those who knew how to look, the true form always shone through. Michael saw him, not as he appeared to be but as he truly was. Not the dishevled figure who looked as though he belonged in the run down place but as the Archangel who looked as though he belonged in the Heaven he had so easily and wilingly left behind. Seemingly too stunned to move, Michael compensated by walking forward himself until he stood in front of the other Archangel.

"Hello, Gabriel," he said.

Gabriel had known, from the day he'd left Heaven, that he was living on borrowed time. Toeing the line with debauchery and indulgence had been a great way to deter any Angelic interactions while remaining on the other side ensured no Demons got the wrong idea. But he'd known it was only a matter of time. And somewhere deep down he'd known that it would eventually be Michael who came to him. Michael who'd brave fire and brimstone and Satan himself if he thought that meant he could save Lucifer. He'd felt activity that night, powerful shit too but he'd ignored it. Hopefully they'd get whatever the fuck they were there for and they'd leave. It wasn't hiding, it was just not engaging. But of course Michael would be the one damn Archangel to go the extra mile and come find him. He was more shocked that Michael was there in a Vessel that actually seemed stable than his at his actual presence. Even for a mind like Gabriel's it took a minute to put the pieces together. When he did, he couldn't help but grin.

"You know you're a generation early right? I mean you're supposed to be in lil'Winchester. Whatcha doin? Tryin to get 'em early?"

"It is nice to see you too, Gabriel," Michael said, gently reminding the younger Archangel of the manners he had seemed to have forgotten.

"Yeah, yeah, come on," Gabriel said motioning him to follow, "This hallway gives me the creeps."

Surprised at the lack of a fight, Michael chose not to push his luck and followe Gabriel a bit down the hallway. Michael looked at the run down room Gabriel was leading him into and felt, not for the first time that night, a bit off put by the mess and dirt he saw. He could still hear the television and smell the food cooking but the sight of the mess made him pause. Heedless of it--or, worse, used to it--Gabriel walked to the doorway. Not wanting to be rude, Michael followed right behind him. Both crossed the threshold of the room and found themselves in a completely different location. Michael looked down at the expensive suite he now wore, seemingly tailor made to John Winchester's lithe body, before looking up at the restaurant he found himself in. It became clear the the sounds he heard were not those of a television anymore than the food he had smelled was being cooked by Gabriel's hand. Turning to look at his brother, he saw Gabriel was dressed just as fine. In clothing that befit the expensive place they now found themselves in.

"Gabriel where are we?" Michael questioned, looking at his brother.

"At a restaurant, thought that would've been kinda obvious," he shook his head, "seriously you need to get out more."

"Gabriel--" Michael began.

"Mr. Joseph," a man in a stiff necked suite said, "your table is ready. Follow me."

"I suppose," Michael said, "it was wishful thinking of me to assume you would be cooking."

"Its your own fault. You kow what happens when you assume. You make an a--"

"Do not continue that sentance," Michael ordered as they got to the table.

It was not as though eating was a necessity for either of them. Vessels might feel hunger but it was far more their minds than the actual need to eat. Still from the way the man seated them promptly and smiled at Gabriel as he bowed out, the Archangel not only ate, he did so quite often. It was a complete indulgence on his part, but, then again, Gabriel had never really been one to deny himself. From the glances a few women were giving them, they were most likely not inside Gabriel's head. If they were, Michael knew the women would be doing much more than looking at them. As if sensing his thoughts, Gabriel chuckled and shook his head. Michael's eyes went right to him and, for reasons he could not quite explain, he felt embarassment color his cheeks.

"So you gonna tell me why you're here? I know you ain't just looking for me."

"I did not need to look hard," Michael told him. Gabriel raised an eyebrow, "Anna Milton is dead," Gabriel's eyes widened but he did not interupt.

At his silence, the story spilled out of Michael's lips faster than he would have liked. He told Gabriel of how Anna Milton had 'escaped' from the Heavenly Prison and come to earth, visiting Dean and Castiel before going back in time to prevent the birth of Lucifer's Vessel. He told him how he had learned of what happened and how he had gone to the Prison to find he door had been tampered with. He had gone to earth and found John Winchester broken, helpless and more than willing to do what his son would so ardently refuse. He related how he had burned Anna as only he could do and sent Uriel back to Heaven without so much as breaking a sweat. Throughout the tale, Gabriel was silent. While legend had always painted him as God's messenger, the bearer of his word, Gabriel ha always been a very adept listener as well. Michael brought the tale to the moment he banished Uriel before stopping.

"And so how'd the lil'WInchester take meeting you for the first time?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Michael was silent for a moment, "oh come on man, I might not know the future but I sure as hell know you're here and that means the sword said no. Actually, scratch that, he probably told you to go fuck yourself, right?"

"Not me," Michael said, "but yes, the message was clear."

Gabriel threw back his head and laughed. Michael stared at his brother. This was the Gabriel of this time, a younger version of the Archangel that now roamed the world. In thirty or so years, Michael knew Gabriel would be far better at hiding himself. Perhaps other things about him would be different as well. He knew the signs that would herald the apocolypse, of course, but even so perhaps one had to see them to find the seriousness in it. At the moment Gabriel actually seemed amused. Amused that his true Vessel had refused--and refused in crude, human language. Finally Gabriel looked at him with a lopsided grin that made something deep inside Michael ache.

"Oh come on, you don't find that even a little funny?"

"No," Michael said, "and in three decades when the War begins, I doubt you will as well."

Gabriel's smile slipped at the dark tone in Michael's voice. Michael had never been one to take anything too seriously. Oh he was well aware of a situation's full impact but Michael was very practical. Unless there was real need to worry, he did not. Most of the time Gabriel had been grateful for his lack of dramatics. It was a sharp contrast to Selaphiel, who barely needed anything to fly off the handle, and to Raphael who was prone to becoming steely silent and painfully obvious in his distress. But not Michael. Now as he looked at him though, Gabriel had a feeling that the world that awaited him thirty years down the line was one that he did not want to be a part of. He had no doubt he had not returned to Heaven but from the look Michael had given him when he had first seen him, he was not associating with any of the Angels. For some reason the thought was strange. The Apocalypse struck him as a good time to make up with people, especially if the world was ending.

"So I'm still out here?" he asked. Michael gave a curt nod and despite his personal feelings, Gabriel grinned, "sweet. So--"

"I will not tell you what will become of you," Michael said, "I intend to erase these memories from the Vessels and I know you will not risk changing the future."

"That depends on how awesome it is," Gabriel said before he leaned forward, "unless, unless because baby Winchester told you to shove it, you aren't off on the Earth and you got no idea how awesome my future is."

"I know you are alive," Michael said, "nothing more."

"Well if I'm alive and not in Heaven, how bad could it possibly be?" Michael gave no reply, "so what'd the little Winchest say?"

Michael was silent for a moment. He knew Gabriel would press the issue. His intent would not be malicious but he would do it none the less. And in truth Michael needed to speak of what had happen. It was why he had risked everything to come and speak to Gabriel. There were other Archangels in Heaven, other he could have spoken to, but they would not understand like Gabriel would. Gabriel who had been the first to stand beside him when Lucifer had chosen to Fall. Gabriel who had not left his side for a moment during those tormenting battles. It was Gabriel who had carried him away from the battlefield after he had cast Lucifer out, when the pain and sorrow and weariness had become too much to bear. It was the first time that Michael himself had spoken to Dean and what he had seen, what he had heard, it was enough to make even the strongest believer have doubts.

"Michael?" Michael looked up to see concern in Gabriel's eyes.

"The way he looked at me--" Michael stopped himself, surprised at how thick his voice was, "it was like I was not an Arc, not even an Angel--"

"He probably doesn't understand what's going on," Gabriel began, insults quickly fading from his speech.

"No," Michael cut him off, "he understands. I did as well. I watched him scream for his brother. If I had told him that I would not save his brother unless he said yes, I believe he would have."

Gabriel didn't ask why Michael didn't just do that. There was no need. Michael would have died before he used a brother's love to get what he wanted. From the look in his eyes though, it seemed that while that would have been unfathomable, there had been other steps taken in order to 'persuade' Dean Winchester to say yes. Whatever they had been though, it seemed that this was Michael's turning point. Gabriel forced himself to be quiet as Michael struggled for the right words. It was unusal for the Archangel to show any kind of weakness and Gabriel knew that he was among the three creatures in all of existence that had seen the impossibly great Michael the Archangel show actual weakness. When Michael spoke next, however, the tone he used was one Gabriel had not heard in over a thousand years.

"He looked at me like Lucifer did," Michael admitted, his voice starting off defeated and sad before it became edged in steel, "like I was the traitor, the one disobeying our Father," he looked at Gabriel, "and when I went to see Castiel, he looked at me the same way. Like I was not going to send him back to where he belonged but like I was going to condemn him to Hell."

"People always get pissy when you charge them with a mission from God," Gabriel said, "Mary threw a vase at my head, remember?" he winced at the memory of Jesus's mother's unusually strong arm, "they always get upset."

"This went beyond that," Michael said, "it was as if everything they had once held dear had been ripped away by my hand."

"Well aren't they Hunters?" Gabriel said. Michael nodded, "well then isn't that kinda what happened. Think about it, the spend their entire lives getting rid of the Demons--which is also what we kind of do--and then they find out that the people who are supposed to be on their team are willing to do some pretty messed up shit to get their way?"

"He said he did not want to be an Angel condom," Michael said finally.

"Well would you?" Gabriel asked. Finally Michael shook his head, "so why don't you try and go and help them?"

"It is not that simple," Michael said.

"Oh don't go overcomplicating things," Gabriel said with a snort, "you sound like a human."

Michael raised an eyebrow. Gabriel frowned, the way he was looking made it seem like he knew something that Gabriel didn't.

"What?" Gabriel asked.

"Do you not think its odd that I am speaking to you like this? That you have become human enough to belong to a time? That in twenty, thirty years that is another you. You are a part of this timeline, not removed from it. Not really, not anymore."

"Yeah, and your point?" Gabriel asked.

"If there is one of us acting like a human, Gabriel, it is not me," Michael said cooly.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at his brother before he let out a snort of laughter and shook his head. Michael watched him cooly but Gabriel couldn't find it in himself to be pissed off at his brother.

"So you really haven't found my sorry ass and dragged me back to heaven?" Gabriel asked. Michael opened his mouth, "and don't give me that 'I don't have a Vessel' crap."

"Well I do not. But you have hidden yourself from the Heavenly Host very well," Michael continued.

"Yeah I'm guessing in 30 years, I'll be much better at hiding from your sorry ass," Gabriel replied, grin not slipping.

"I have no doubt," Michael said, "you always were exceptionally good at hiding--especially when you were in trouble."

"Keeping you on your toes, Michael, just keepin you on your toes."

Michael shook his head, amused in only the way an elder brother could be at the antics of his younger one. Michael was the eldest, not simply of Lucifer but of all the Archangels--Gabriel included. And every brother had rebelled, to a certain degree. But there had always been a sort of humor around Gabriel's rebellions, rather than the malice of Lucifer's or the seriousness of Raphael's half hearted pranks. Michael did not know how long he sat with his brother, only that time seemed to go far too quickly. Before he knew it and certainly before he was ready, he could feel that it was time to get John Winchester back to his house. Ducking his head, he used a brief turn of power to transport them back to the Winchester house, John in his original cloths and Gabriel still in his suite.

"I must return this Vessel," Michael said finally.

"Yeah, I know," Gabriel said, "hey, carriage to a pumpkin right?" he jammed his hands into his pockets, "see you 'round Michael."

"Gabriel," Michael looked at him, "how will I find you?"

Gabriel just laughed and vanished.

Michael watched the spot where his brother had just been. He knew he could go to the apartment building but he knew that Gabriel was long gone--the building probably was as well. Finally allowing his eyes to close, Michael titled his head up to the sky. He had not realized just how much he had needed the interaction with someone who did not view him as the pony to bet on. Someone who reminded him that there was something in this world still worth fighting for. Idly he wondered if thirty years would truly change Gabriel. Would he be bitter? Angry? Or would he still have a sense of humor? Still have that grin that could outshine even the darkest moments? In his most selfish of selves, Michael hoped that thirty years had not changed him too much. Opening his eyes, Michael turned to face the house. It was time to get John Winchester back home.

Michael walked up to the house. He could feel the wards that Mary Winchester had put around the house to protect it from the Supernatural. Getting to the porch was going to be as far as he got John Winchester's Vessel. There would be some questions, probably some shouting but everything would be alright. If anything it would make her news of her pregnancy with Dean go over better. She had been keeping it from her husband for almost three weeks now. He could feel the wards begin to work on him. Slowly he pressed his back to the wall and let his jellied legs give out under him, brining him quickly to the ground. He had forgotten just how unpleasant leaving a Vessel undamaged truly was. Opening his eyes, Michael looked out at the tidy yard spread in front of the small house. Flowers would grow there, maybe a vegetable garden too.

But now there was a man watching him.

If he hadn't been standing there at that moment, Michael would not have believed the man was anything but that. He could feel nothing. Not a spark of Grace or a flicker of power. Unusual since usually even the best of the Angels gave off something. But not this one. Nothing spoke of Grace. Not the worn leather jacket or the jeans and t-shirt he wore underneath. Not the dirty blond, slightly messy hair or the bright hazel eyes or even the five o'clock shadow on the man's face. But he was standing there, looking at Michael with an expression that, despite his best efforts through is declining vision, was guarded. As if he was not sure why he was standing there looking at him. Slowly the man moved forward. If he too was affected by Mary Winchester's wards, he did not show it. Maybe now he truly was that good, good enough to not be affected by anything but the Oil. For some reason the idea both saddened and relieved Michael as the man stopped right in front of him.

"Hello, Gabriel," he said, the words whispery to his own ears, "I did not think you would want to be seen by me."

Gabriel, the modern, 2010 Gabriel, made a sound in the back of his throat and walked over to where Michael sat, legs sprawled out in front of him. He really did look different but as he knelt in front of Michael, he could feel the barest glimmer of his Grace. Not like the hurricane he knew but like the barest breeze. Michael let his eyes close, the familiar glimmer of power, of Grace, washing over him like a comforting embrace.

"You have learned new tricks," Michael breathed softly.

"You got no idea," Gabriel said, his voice more serious than it had been thirty years ago.

"I don't suppose I do," Michael opened his eyes, "what happened?" he asked, trying to put force behind the words and failing miserably.

"Got a visit from those Winchesters," Gabriel said. Michael turned his head, "okay so I might've had a little fun with them. But damn, talk about no sense of humor," he snorted and shook his head, looking for a moment like the Gabriel that Michael loved, "assholes. I'm guessing Dean's still saying no to you," Michael continued to look at him, "well hey, look on the bright side, least Sam's still saying no to Lucifer."

"Not for long," Michael breathed, "not without--" his breath hitched, "not without help."

"Don't look at me man," Gabriel said, "I am _not_ taking sides in this shit show. You and Lucifer can fucking rip each other to shreds for all I care."

"You should," Michael said, though it was difficult, "if the world ends, so does your vacation."

"World ends, it all ends--thats kind of the point," Gabriel said.

"And what makes you think you won' t have to spend eternity with the rest of us?"

It seemed that thought had not occurred to Gabriel. The Archangel's eyes narrowed slightly as Michael felt sadness stab through him. The brother in him was saddened at the prospect of Gabriel so loathing the idea of returning to them but the battle commander in him said that if this was the route to enlist his General then so be it. He _needed_ Gabriel, especially if Dean said no to him. There was no other way around the fact and if using this Gabriel's dislike of Heaven as a bartering tool was the way to go then so be it. Michael felt himself enter the final stages of separation. In a few minutes he would go to Heaven and the Vessel would be back to its original state. Heaven, back to the confusion and suffering and fear that was eating at the Heavenly Host. Dean's refusal, Lucifer's growing power--all of it was getting to be too much. It was only a matter of time before he was faced with another rebellion. A rebellion without Gabriel by his side, without the glimmer of laughter his younger brother brought. The thought was crippling and the tightness in his chest suddenly had little to do with the process of separating with his Vessel.

"I should have stopped this," Michael said, Gabriel's inhale the only indication he'd said it aloud, "i should never have allowed this to happen."

"Michael, you couldn't have done anything--"

"Yes," he looked at him through eyes that suddenly could not focus, "they listen to me--" he looked at the outline of his brother, "or they did once. But our Father--our Father is gone and I do not know what do do--"

"Hey--Hey!" Hands settled on his shoulders, "I don't know what kind of crap they're feeding you up there now but you do know what to do. You _always_ know what to do. And even if you don't, you're one hell of a faker. If there's anyone who can turn this around, its you."

Michael's shook his head and Gabriel swore at himself. He was worried. He'd felt the change in his present self and he'd known Michael was screwing with time. But for Michael to take time off to go joyriding with a Vessel--that was so weird for him. Red flags had gone up in Gabriel's head and before he could talk himself out of it, instincts took over and he'd abandoned the orgy and teleported to where Michael was. Now he was cursing himself from here to Sunday. Not because Michael knew what he looked like or because he was suddenly reassuring the brother he'd been so sick of listening to fight that he'd abandoned Heaven. No, Gabriel was cursing because he saw the look in his brother's eyes and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that however bad he'd thought things were up there, they were much _much_ worse. Looking at Michael he could see the sorrow and the guilt and the hopelessness--all the thing's he'd seen right after that first battle with Lucifer. When Michael had all but thrown himself into Hell to undo what hadn't been his fault. Though Michael looked at him now with eyes rapidly loosing themselves to the separation of Vessel and Angel, Gabriel saw those emotions and he knew the consequences all too well.

"He looked at me like I wanted to kill Lucifer," Michael shook his head.

"Hey, we both know thats not true," Gabriel said.

"Angels are supposed to help," Michael gasped for air, entering what they knew was the final stages of the separation, "supposed to care--" he struggled for air, "not supposed to be like this."

"I know, Mikey, I know," Gabriel began. Michael fixed him with a withering look.

"Don't call me that," Michael exhaled, his head lolling forward before his eyes closed and he sagged forward.

Gabriel swore as he looked at the limp form. Michael was gone, he could feel that in the Vessel laying at his feet. Only the residual flash of Michael's power was in the body of the man who lay there but Gabriel remembered every word he had exchanged with his brother. It was the curse of being such a part of a real and transient world, he belonged to a time. There was a him running around in the world. Gabriel pushed himself to his feet. Reaching out, he nudged open the door of the Winchester's small home and seized the back of John Winchester's jacket, dragging the unconscious man into the home. He was way heavier than Gabriel would've thought, especially since he wasn't going to be using power and risking all the crazy reactions that using any kind of power would set off. Yanking him onto the couch, Gabriel stepped back and looked at the unconscious young man. He would father two sons, sons who would personify the Archangels that they would struggle so hard to remain free of. What kind of life was that? Gabriel barely managed to avoid the conflict and he was one of them.

_Please, if you're up there, I need some help--_

"Damn it," Gabriel swore, the prayer echoing inside his head, spoken with the broken tone of a desperate man. He looked upwards, "I bet you're loving this you smug son of a bit--"

His curse was cut short by footsteps on the stairs. It'd been a rough night--both in this time and in the time that he had come from. And Mary Winchester was anything but a fool. She was a highly trained Hunter who could feel that someone had done something--even if she was not sure what. So when that highly trained, on alert, slightly pissed off Hunter saw a strange man standing over her husband, she did the only thing that she could. She picked up the nearest heavy object, drew back her arm and pitched it at his head. Turning around, Gabriel grabbed the vase mid air, catching it in his hand. He turned and looked at the woman standing on the stairs, arm still half raised, body still too early to show true signs of pregnancy. Her eyes widened as she looked at him, the gesture eerily familiar to that of her younger son.

"What is with you women?" Gabriel held the vase, "not nice. And make sure you teach Dean some damn manners when it comes to talking to his elders, got it?"

The woman opened her mouth but Gabriel had already vanished, the ground seamlessly moving under his feet until time and space had passed. His feet hit the ground as he straitened up, vase still held in his hand. Looking down at the thing, he let out a breath and rolled his eyes. At least he'd caught it this time. Though he'd only exchanged the barest of words with his brother, Gabriel couldn't help but feel like he'd just gotten yanked into the conflict much deeper than he'd want to be. Glaring furiously at the wall of the nearest building, Gabriel drew his hand back and threw the vase at the bricks. The shattering of it was much less satisfying than he would have liked. Throwing his head back he looked at the sky.

"You're enjoying this a little too much you fucking coward!"he shouted at the heavens, "we both know you could be down here fighting if you weren't so damn scared of having to confront Lucifer again! You're a damn coward and we both know it! If you weren't so fucking scared you'd get off your ass and make damn sure that another pair of brothers didn't have to go through the same damn shit that you did! The Michael I know, the Michael I followed, would do _everything_ in his power to make sure that no brother ever had to go through that. So until you pull your head out of your ass and get the fuck down here, I ain't giving you squat! You hear me you overgrown bird brain?!"

He was surprised at how raw and violent the anger that filled him was. Hundreds of years lay between him and his brothers and yet Gabriel wanted nothing more than to kill one of them with his bare hands. But that required going to heaven. So when he heard feet on the ground, it was more than enough to make Gabriel smile. A fist fight sounded good, great even. He waited as the person approached, their steps leisurely and unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. Gabriel had time too, they all did even if all the time in the world now referred to a much shorter time span. But as the person approached, Gabriel began to feel something off about them. Something strange, like a whisper where there should have been a hurricane.

"I hear you very clearly and before we do anything, Gabriel, we are going to have to work on your manners."

When he turned around it was not with the intention to fight, not entirely. His eyes widened, his lips parted and for the first time in nearly a thousand years, Gabriel the Archangel was well and truly shocked. Despite hearing and answering prayers, he had never thought that one of his would be answered--or that he would be praying at all. Yet somewhere deep inside he realized he should have known. Known that this was coming, known that all the insults in the world might not have made he brother come but a good point would. He knew it and yet he found himself shocked. And when he finally got his throat to work, his voice came out more prayer than whisper.

"Michael?"

**

* * *

**

**Woo hoo! I wanted to do something about the brother's relationship rather than save-the-world-time. As for the whole timeline thing, given that Uriel belonged to the past I imagined Gabriel would have too. Though I like modern Gabe better. Feel free to check out my fic Dominus Tecum or to try and incite me to write more of Michael and Gabriel. **

**Do it by reviewing!  
**

**Please review! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay so this is Enchantable being a praise whore. I wasn't sure I was gonna continue but enough of you seem to love Michael and Gabriel AND not love Dean/Jo to warrent this story. So a little plot tweaking and presto! Here you go! time to save the world and deal with the brotherly angst. **

**Oh and please keep in mind I've got a feeling the two of them act a bit differently around each other than they do when interacting with the others. **

* * *

Gabriel could only stare.

The man in front of him was not Dean Winchester, nor did he expect it to be. Then again, he supposed he did not expect the man standing behind him to be Michael at all. There was Winchester written all over the man from the stubborn line of his jaw to the dark, messy style of his hair. There were differences too, to be sure. The eyes for one were a bright shade of blue that given Michael's power and apparent recent taking of the Vessel, seemed to almost glow. The features were more delicate than John or Dean's had been, as if someone with more elegant looks had gotten sucked into the twisted world of the Winchesters. Gabriel was more inclined to the ladies but looking at the man standing in front of him he could see how a chick would fall for him. Even if the man standing in front of him was wearing jeans, a hoodie and a leather jacket and sporting a five o'clock shadow. It was a struggle but Gabriel found his voice.

"Well look at you," he said, "I'm guessing cousin. Twice removed?"

"Three times," Michael replied, "there is barely enough Winchester in this Vessel to contain me without causing serious damage to his physical well being."

"Yeah I can feel that," Gabriel said looking him up and down and none discovering he was none to pleased that even for a third removed Winchester he still had to look up to meet his eyes, "you got _any_ power?"

"In time I will have more," he said, "but this arrangement," he touched his chest, "is a temporary one."

"Fuck man," Gabriel ran his hand through his hair, "what the _hell_ are you doing here Mikey--"

"You know I detest that nickname," Michael said, distaste slipping into his tone.

"Yeah, well, I 'detest' it when my older brother gate crashes!" Gabriel threw back venomously.

"That is enough with the dramatics, Gabriel," Michael stopped him before he could continue, "Anna might have been the first but others will get the same idea. Or a similar one. And they will try to undo the past."

"That's great," Gabriel said sarcastically, "its great that you're learning from your mistakes. Really it is, my hat's off to you, but I'm not getting involved in this mess any more than I already am," he said turning around.

Michael appeared in front of him.

Inwardly Gabriel swore. Of course for the rest of them being that cut off from their powers would be a death sentence but for Michael it was nothing more than an inconvenience. Sure he wouldn't be blowing shit up or burning people alive, but he probably could still heal, he could still fight and, of course, he could still transport himself from one place to another. The rest of them would have suffered huge drawbacks if they didn't take their destined Vessels, those who could contain their huge power. It was a side effect of being an Archangel. But Michael, of course, found a way around that. Now though, Michael stood in front of him, arms by his side, weight perfectly balanced, eyes locked on Gabriel. He didn't look like some guy on the street, he looked like a guy who had never walked the earth before. Though that made sense considering the last time Michael had walked the earth, excluding his little jaunt in the 70s, people had been just on the other side of discovering fire.

"So what?" Gabriel continued, "you expect me to just jump on the band wagon? Help you save the world?"

"Yes," Michael replied.

"Well blow me. It ain't happening!"

"Yes it will," Michael said plainly.

"The hell it will! Maybe I want this bullshit to be over," Gabriel began.

"No you do not," Michael replied.

"Yeah and what the fuck would you know?" Gabriel demanded.

"I know that you are selfish," Michael replied, "and I know that you do not want to return to Heaven. You are enjoying yourself, Gabriel, and whether you want to end this war or not if you do not help me then you will find yourself stuck with us for all of eternity."

Gabriel stared at him, hating with every fiber of his being that his brother had a point. There was no point in pretending or hiding when faced with Michael's steely cool gaze. There had never been any point in bullshitting when it came to Michael. Elder brothers could usually see through the crap of the younger but no-one saw more truth than Michael the Archangel. Even though he told himself he did not care about Michael's words of his selfishness, nor the fact that Michael spoke with such ease about his hatred of the idea of spending eternity with his brothers. Truthfully he was rather selfish and the idea of spending eternity with his brothers was one that made his stomach role, but the notion that Michael was so at ease with the idea was the thing that made his stomach clench. But he'd be damned if he let Michael see that. Even if his eyes could see the truth, if there was one thing Gabriel could do it was bullshit.

"Alright lets say I do believe you," Gabriel said, "and that if I join in this little party the apocalypse is somehow averted, the world's still screwed ten ways to sunday and we both know it. Last time you had the power of heaven on your side."

"Our side," Michael corrected, "and it is true that this time there are further complications. But we do have an advantage. We are not the only ones that wish for the Apocalypse to be averted."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gabriel asked.

"It means I need your help," Michael said, "we do not have the backing of the Heavenly Host and I have taken measures to ensure that my absence will not be noticed right away. Both sides want this to go out in a war that will, how did you put it? Screw the world ten ways to Sunday. So in this Vessel even if I do manage to kill Lucifer what remains will hardly be the Earth."

"So you want to end the war quietly?" Gabriel arched an eyebrow, "that's not really your style."

"Neither is it yours," Michael said, "but it is the only way."

Gabriel looked at him suspiciously, eyes narrowing slightly.

"You're talking like the war's already been lost," the Archangel said, "did I miss something?"

"Yes," Michael said, "Not only is the war farther along than you think, but the actions of Heaven have shown me that there are too many up there who truly want this war to go through. Even if we should win, the world will end all the same."

Gabriel sighed. That was it then. Michael wasn't there because he'd done a 180 and decided that torturing people to get them to say yes was a bad idea. He was there because he realized that if the world ended, right and truly ended, then he'd have no precious humans to protect. Ever since they had been decreed to bow before the humans, to love them more than they loved God, Michael had loved the humans. He was notorious for it. He'd chosen them over his own brother, something that Gabriel was sure that neither he nor Lucifer would ever truly forgive him for. And yet Michael was unapologetic. Even now he stood before Gabriel to save humans, not because of some warped loyalty or love for his brother. A part of Gabriel felt hurt by that but the larger part of him just felt plain old pissed off. If, after all these millennia he was surprised that it was all about Michael and Lucifer, then he wasn't a very smart man. And if there was one thing Gabriel had prided himself on, it was the fact that he was at least smart enough to get the obvious shit.

"Well whoop de fucking do," the younger Archangel said, rotating his finger to emphasize his disgust with the situation at hand, "so the world ends. Big damn deal. I didn't come down here to chillax until you needed me."

"No," Michael agreed softly, "you ran away."

"Yeah, well, fuck you!" Gabriel lashed out, "you can think whatever you want but like I said, I sure as hell didn't come down here to wait around until you decided to get off your ass and join the party," he turned around but Michael was already standing there, "really?" Gabriel demanded, disbelief heavy in his voice.

"Yes," Michael said, missing the joke completely, "you stood by my side once--"

"And look how that turned out," Gabriel said with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes," Michael repeated, "look. This world, these people, they are all because of a choice. A choice that you made. You stood by my side and look what as happened. All this enjoyment you have, all this freedom you have gotten, all of it is because of a choice that you made. I would not ask this of you, Gabriel, if I thought I could do this on my own. But even I am not that foolish."

"Well thats a first," Gabriel muttered, "so lets just say, for shits and giggles, that I do believe you're here to save the humans. What do you want from me?"

"Do you really think, for one second, that I do not know what you have been up to?" Michael asked, titling his head to the side in a characteristic angelic gesture, "your side on the war was always less firm than the others."

"The name Uriel ring a bell?"

"Uriel," Michael repeated, rolling the name around on his tongue like a King tasting a foreign delicacy, "no, not like Uriel. Uriel always loved our Father more than he hated anyone else. But you, you always hated that you had to choose between your brothers."

Gabriel looked away, a rare feeling of shame coloring his cheeks. It was true, for better or worse, that he had always felt strange fighting his brothers. Regret was too strong a word, for he did not regret following Michael, listening to the word of their Father. But raising his blade against his brothers, against Lucifer, Asmodeus, Leviathan--that had never sat well with him. Gabriel had always prided himself on the fact he could see what others tried to hide. But that had been a problem. He had seen why Lucifer, Asmodeus, Leviathan and the others had rebelled and Fallen and when it came down to it he could see why they had done what they had. Oh he had still chosen Michael and, by default, his Father, but he had never fully been able to justify raising his weapon against his kin. Especially in the later years when the ones who had chosen Heaven, the so called Righteous, had descended into chaos. Most of all when God had vanished. He had chosen Faith but it was damn had to have Faith when there was nothing to place it in.

And for what had it been? Sure there had been thousands of years of good, thousands of years of humans being, well, humans, but the fact was that when all was said and done the end of the world was the fucking end of the world. They hadn't stopped or solved anything, they had just delayed it. And really, when you looked at eternity, what the fuck was a couple thousand years give or take? The world was ending all the same. And whether it ended with Michael standing victorious or Lucifer doing the fucking irish jig on Heaven's ass, it ended. What would be the point in raising his mace against them? Sure he and Michael could get the Horsemen back into their boxes, probably finish off Hell's forces for good fucking measure, but it would end all the same. In spite of the bullshit he could have told the Winchesters, he had been honest. He couldn't stand the idea of doing it again, not to have the same slightly delayed events play out in a couple of thousand years. Better it end now than it drag out for another few millennia.

"Yeah I hated it," Gabriel said, "and I'm not doing it again," he said, "you're on your own with this one," he shook his head, something almost remorseful in the gesture, "go back to Heaven, Michael, there isn't anything for you here--"

That was all he got out before he found himself slammed against the opposing building. The air was knocked out from his lungs as his back collided with the rough stone. In the same instant his hands slammed to either side of his head and, had he been mortal, Gabriel was sure his wrists would have snapped. Instead they just slammed, hard enough to bruise. He struggled for breath and tried to move his legs but nothing happened, they remained locked to the stone wall. Struggling to catch his breath, Gabriel locked his eyes with his brother. Michael took his sweet time moving towards his brother, each step echoing with a perverse sort of delight in the fact that even after all the thousands of years between them, even with the fact that Gabriel wore a far more true Vessel than he did, Michael still asserted himself as the stronger of the two Archangels. He was the Trickster Gods messenger, so many thing and yet at the moment all that he could do was stare his brother down and promise himself that he'd get revenge. It took much longer than necessary but finally Michael stood in front of him, eyes sweeping over Gabriel's form before they landed on his face.

"I was not asking, Gabriel," he said.

"I don't take orders from you anymore," Gabriel spat.

"Defiance," Michael stated, "how very human of you," his lips curved in what could have been mistaken for a smile, "how very pointless," he made a motion with his hand and Gabriel slammed into the ground, "we have a lot of ground to cover. We must move quickly and using our Powers is not wise. I assume you have a vehicle of some sort?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Gabriel gasped, shoving himself up, "I'm not following you anywhere!"

"Must we really play this game, Gabriel?" Michael asked, turning around to face his brother, "you will follow me and we both know it--though one of us seems to be aware earlier than the other--and, unfortunately, I do not have the time to sit around and wait for you to torture yourself into this realization. Now I will ask you again, do you have a vehicle of some sort?"

Gabriel opened and closed his mouth several times before realizing that sounds were not coming out. A familiar annoyance entered Michael's gaze but Gabriel was anything but off put. Michael thought he was predictable, that he knew Gabriel's every move and thought and that, if nothing else, pissed the hell out of Gabriel. He wasn't the same as he was the last time he was in Heaven and if Michael thought that then he was more delusional than Gabriel had thought. Anger tightening his features, Gabriel reached up and straitened his jacket, tugging it into place. He should have thought that just going to Michael back in the 70s was a fucking bad idea. But instead he'd had to go. Had to see with his own two eyes that his big brother had taken a joy ride in a Vessel. That Michael the great Archangel who'd chosen the world over his own damn brother had done something selfish. Now though he realized he should have just said 'fuck you' to the whole damn thing and stayed where he was. Brought himself a bit more time to cavort around before the end of the world.

"No," Gabriel said, "I've been teleporting around. You want a car, go be proactive and either steal one or go buy one. You're the most badass warrior in heaven, you figure it out."

"Are we really going to do this?" Michael asked raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know," Gabriel said, "are we Angels? Brothers? Are you trying to force me to do some shit I don't wanna do? Hell yeah we're gonna do this," he said with a snort.

Michael looked away for a moment before focusing his gaze on Gabriel once more.

"Do you remember before you left Heaven?" Michael inquired, "when you asked me how, after all that had happened, I would still be able to raise my blade--that I would expect you and Raphael and all the others to do the same--in the name of the Heaven that had not known what was coming. Do you remember what I told you?"

"Yeah," Gabriel said, his voice softening ever so slightly, "I remember."

"You made your choice then and I let you go," he said, "and I know that more than anything you wish for the war, the fighting, for all of this to be over. But more than that I know that you do not want to watch our family, fractured, as it is, tear itself apart," Michael took a step forward, "it is not in you, Gabriel, to stand by and watch the world burn. You can hide it from them but I know you well enough to know this to be true. Even if you do not want to stand beside me a fight for there to still be a world, I am asking you to fight so that our brothers do not have to."

Gabriel looked away. What he was asking, what he was expecting, it was too much. He wasn't an Archangel, not anymore. Not in any sense of the word. And if Michael had made it so that the Heavenly Host didn't know he wasn't in Heaven and he'd just as much said they didn't have the backing of the Angels. There was good in that, Gabriel knew it, but there was a serious downside to it too. Without the others the chances of shit getting blown out of proportion more than it was was slim. But without them it would be them without the rest of the fucking Angels. And Michael wasn't going to be in his true form. He could still teleport, probably light a cigarette but he sure as Hell couldn't pull of the kind of shit that Michael was going to have to pull if they had a chance of pulling this off. Frustrated, Gabriel ran a hand through his hair.

"Have you decided to come with me or must I stand here and find more inspiration to shorten the length of your dramatics?" Michael asked.

"Hey!" Gabriel rounded on him, "I'm not the one showing up out of the blue for the first time in centuries making the other drop everything they were doing to help save the fucking world here! I'll be as dramatic as I want and you can just be grateful I'm not disappearing on your ass."

"I have no doubt that if you were truly going to say no you would have disappeared," Michael said plainly, folding his arms neatly across his chest in a gesture that was nauseating in its familiarity.

"You smug son of a bitch," Gabriel growled, realizing that Michael had been indulging him all along. To his credit Michael did not look as smug as Gabriel knew he could have.

"We need a car, Gabriel," Michael said, "one that, preferably, you do not create. We need to--"

"Use our powers as little as possible!" Gabriel said walking down the street, "Yeah, I know, been hiding for the past thousand or so years remember? Stay here while I go find something."

Michael watched Gabriel walk off down the street, probably to steal a car. Exhaling he lowered his eyes. He had gambled on Gabriel staying but once he had he knew his brother would help him. Gabriel was, after all, still Gabriel and even if the idea of fighting his family was one the Archangel found disgusting, he still would fight. After all, he had chosen Heaven and, by default, Michael, over the rest of them once and he would still again. Reaching his hand into his pocket, Michael pulled out the cell phone that his Vessel had taken. It had not taken much to find the number he needed but now he was forced to gamble yet again. On a far less reliable target than his younger brother. And yet it was a gamble he was going to have to take. This entire mission, everything was a gamble. Thumbing the digits into the telephone, he connected the call before he could think too hard and lifted the phone to his ear. It took a few rings for the number to connect, for the hoarse voice on the other end to speak and for the ice to settle painfully in his stomach.

"Yeah?"

The voice was rough, broken, echoing with the slur of liquor and the tremble of tears. It was everything that Michael had feared, everything that had him throw himself into a Vessel he was not supposed to take. Broken. The word came to his mind, unasked for and certainly unwelcome. Angels were supposed to help, to guide, to defend--not to alienate and destroy. But the voice on the other end belonged to a man who was broken, a man who still fought and still struggled but who was continuously beaten by the very world he tried so hard to save. It took everything in Michael not to break the cell phone in his hand as his fingers pressed viciously into the cheap plastic casing. But it was the duty of a general to not show weakness, to push his feelings aside and see that the people he fought for, with and against saw nothing of weakness or doubt or fear in him. Or, he reasoned since they were on the phone, heard any of those things.

"Hello, Dean," he said.

"Yeah, hey," came the reply as the young man's throat was cleared and he heard the phone move, "what's the job?"

"The job?" Michael repeated in disbelief.

"Yeah, the job. Poltergeists, demons, possession? Look before you tell me I gotta warn you, its gonna be a couple days before we can get out there. If its serious, I can give you the number of another hunter in your area who can probably help you--"

"Dean," Michael cut him off, "I need you to stay where you are," he spoke, voice strong and cool, "very shortly you will be contacted by an Angel, most likely Zachariah, and I need you to stall him."

"Stall him?" the voice was suddenly much sharper, angry, defiant even, "who the hell is this?"

"Michael," Michael said.

"Bullshit," Dean said, "you're telling me you're Heaven's biggest douchnozzel?" there was a snort and the distinct sound of liquor sloshing from bottle to mouth, "yeah, okay, pal. Well next time do your research. Michael's a big fan of making entrances that usually involve some serious pyrotechnic bullshit--probably overcompensating for something--and Angels are shit on the phone, oh, and they teleport. So next time you wanna prank call someone pretending to be a fucking Archangel you better pray that your fucking far enough away I don't pour Holy Oil over your ass and roast myself an Archangel burger."

"No," Michael replied.

"No?" Dean repeated with a snort of bitter laughter.

"No," Michael said, "Holy Oil would trap, it would not roast. Painful but your burger would be distinctly undercooked and screaming. Castiel might be 'shit' on the phone but methods of communication have never been Castiel's forte and we do not teleport, we move very quickly. No I am not overcompensating for something and if you had done even an ounce of research you would know that fire is my element as water is Gabriel's, making them the easiest to work with for us. And I am not standing in front of you because unfortunately my consenting Vessel will not allow me access to my full powers and even if I did, I need more time before Heaven is involved which is where you come in. Lie to Zachariah, infuriate him, do whatever it takes so that his attention is on you and not on looking for me. Now if you cannot do this I will have to find another way but I need to know now."

"Lets say, for one fucking second, I believe this crap. I'm the Michael Sword--"

"I told you it is a bloodline or, as you put it, Six Degrees of Heaven Bacon which is why I am currently standing in your third cousin who barely has enough power to contain me."

"So after all this I'm just supposed to believe that you did a 180 and suddenly decided to get on the save the world bandwagon? Sorry pal, I'm not buying it."

"I am not asking you to buy it, I am asking you to annoy and stall Zachariah, something that you seem to do quite well regardless."

"Then why call me?"

"Because there is a chance he will know I am gone or you will, for whatever reason, change your mind and I cannot have that happen. Not now. Stall, annoy--do whatever you want but keep him occupied. Oh, and make sure Sam still says no as well, consent in the throws of a demon blood induced fit is still consent."

"Hold on--"

"No," Michael said, "I am not holding on, I am not listening to you spew incorrect jargon because you have already polished off half a bottle of cheap booze. I am loathe to put trust in your ability to perform even a simple tasks with any sort of success but I have no other option. Keep doing what you are doing. I will be in touch. Goodbye, Dean"

"No, wait--"

"Goodbye," Michael said closing the phone as Gabriel pulled around the corner in a disgustingly brightly colored car that came complete with a pair of fuzzy dice his brother seemed delighted in. Michael walked over as the car came to a stop, "is this necessary?"

"Hey you want me to look for an inconspicuous car or do you want to get in the pimp mobile so we can get this shit done?"

Michel got into the car.

Within a minute both the Archangels, car and apartment building were gone.

As if they had never been there at all.

* * *

**And the Angels are on the road! I feel kind of angry that its all about Michael and Lucifer when there's so much potential with Gabriel and Michael. Don;t worry, the Dean, Castiel and Sam part's gonna be there too and eventually everyone's gonna go fight together! **

**Anyway please review! **


	3. Chapter 3

Music filled the car.

The highway streched endlessly in front of them, the dark and mudane landscape oddly contrasting with the fuzzy, neon interior of the car. It had taken Gabriel two blocks to find the nauseatingly bright and obnoxious car but he'd be damned if he was going to give Michael the satisfaction of boosting something with an ounce of taste. Although, in Gabriel's opinion, anyone who could combine leopard print, pink shag and fuzzy dice deserved an award--or at least a write up in Homes and Gardens. Michael, of course, felt differently. He was silent, sitting in the passenger seat with his gaze locked determinely on some point in the horizon. His posture was perfect, his hands folded neatly in his lap, all of it an odd contradiction to his slightly greasey hair and stubbled cheeks. They'd been driving for hours, Gabriel was sure about that. A few more and the sky'd start to lighten. Gabriel glanced at the clock in the car, the digital numbers telling him it hadn, in fact, been more hours than he'd thought since they started driving. Up ahead, Gabriel spied a sign for food and lodging.

"Do not think about it," Michael said.

"Too late."

"Do not follow through on that thought," the Archangel corrected, "we do not have time to--"

"Eat? Sleep?" Gabriel snorted, "in case you didn't notice, the Apocalypse ain't coming to an awe-inspiring conclusion right now. And its been a while since you were on earth so lemme just refresh your memory: you need to eat. And to sleep. Especially if that Vessel of yours is going to be in once piece when you're done with it," he turned the car towards the exit, "you look like you can barely keep your eyes open as it is."

"I'm fine," Michael said, though his gritted teeth spoke differently.

Gabriel rolled his eyes at the familiar stubbornness, turning the car off the highway. It was a testament to the adjustment that he was going through that past a word, Michael did not try to stop him. All Archangels did it, it was not as simple for them as it was for the less powerful. Gabriel had taken a Vessel that could not hope to contain him once and spent three days retching in the throws of agony before he managed to leave the Vessel with any semblance of the former soul in tact. The poor bastard Lucifer was wearing was barely going to be able to take food through a tube, much less remember who he was. Even if the bastard Michael was in right now wasn't the true Vessel, it had enough of the bloodline in it that he was able to contain him. But there was an adjustment period, one that Gabriel had a good idea would be prolonged and painful.

Gabriel had spent three days vomiting and praying for death and all Michael had to do was press his hands together and grit his teeth. There really was no fucking justice in the world. Gabriel pulled into the motel parking lot. Michael continued to sit there, eyes locked ahead as Gabriel went to the front of the motel and used a little bit of power to convince the guy to give them a key and a room at the far end of the place. Coming back to the car, Michael had not moved even an iota. Gabriel came around to the other side of the car and opened the door. Though he had not moved, now there was more of a stiffness to how he held himself. Gabriel crossed his arms and looked at his brother.

"You gonna come to the motel room or should I just leave you and the love mobile alone for the night?"

Michael glared over at him before wordlessly getting out of the car. Gabriel could see his body beginning to succumb to the pain of adjustment but if his steps were stiff and off balance, Gabriel knew better than to say anything about it. It took ten minutes to get to the front door of the motel room. Gabriel took his time opening the door but Michael stood there, his eyes locked directly ahead of him. All he needed was a pair of wings and maybe some armor and he'd look like a darker, scruffier version of the Archangel pictures that people drew of him. Gabriel walked into the small but clean motel room and Michael followed. The younger Archangel manually closed and locked the door as he heard Michael ease himself onto the bed. Even though Michael could not see it, Gabriel rolled his eyes at his brother's behavior.

"You don't have to do that," Gabriel said glancing at his brother's drawn features as Michael eased himself fully onto the bed, "act all tough. I'm not one of your soldiers anymore."

"No," came the reply, filled with emotion that Gabriel was not sure he wanted to identify, "I suppose you are not."

Gabriel turned towards Michael but the other Archangel had lowered himself completely onto the bed, his eyes already shut. Just for a moment, Gabriel felt the same raw panic he had the last time they had been in this situation. And in spite of all the time that had passed, all the shit that had built up between them, his feet still took him across the room as fast as they could. Michael's grace still pulsed through the body, weak and flickering but it was still there and the relief that Gabriel felt course through him was anything but comforting. He never should have let Michael see what he was, who he was, in the modern age. He should have--he should--Gabriel shook his head as if doing so would get rid of the thoughts that tumbled through it. He could tell himself whatever the hell he wanted, Michael knew what he looked like and even after all that had happened Gabriel knew he'd never leave the motel room while Michael was in trouble. And he was in trouble, not a lot but enough that leaving him alone right now was a very bad idea. Shaking his head, Gabriel walked over to the unoccupied twin bed and dropped onto it.

He had to find Michael before his brother got himself into real deep shit.

Gabriel let his eyes close while, very far away, Michael opened his with a dull sense of surprise.

The two women on the pole were hot.

Michael watched them apathetically, trying not to be concerned that that was the first thought he had. He had seen far worse from men and though he found very little joy in what he saw, he could at least admit it was not as terrible as some of the things he had witnessed. One dressed in blue twisted herself into impossible looking positions that Michael just thought looked painful while the one in red moved hypnotically up and down the pole like flames being allowed to dampen and then fanned into a frenzy. Fire and Water. Michael titled his head to the side, intrigued. He would not have assumed he would think of things this way. It had been thousands of years since he had dreamed. He would not have thought that his dreams would involve cheap, crushed velvet and women gyrating on poles. In fact, Michael was certain he had not been inside such a place. And while he did not wish to consider what kind of antics the Vessel he inhabited had performed, he did know that his taste ran distinctly more high brow than where he found himself.

Which could only mean that this was not his dream.

Relief and disgust clashed through him as he turned his head just enough to make out the form of his true, idiotic Vessel. Without the horror and pain and surprise, Dean Winchester looked surprisingly like every other person on earth. Leaning back against a cheap, crushed velvet couch, he watched the strippers gyrate, a bottle of some dime store variety booze cradled between his spread legs. He was so intent on the strippers he did not even notice another person until Michael walked over to where the young man was sitting. Dean turned his head to look at him and, even in his dream, Michael could see he was clearly drunk. His eyes slid in and out of focus as they tried to place who the strange man in his dream was. Almost belatedly, Michael realized that there was no reason for Dean to think that the man standing in front of him was anything but, well, Michael supposed hallucination was probably the wrong word but certainly Dean would not have taken him immediately for an Angel. Dean snorted, clearly unimpressed, and turned back to the two women. Slowly Michael took a step forward, closing some of the distance between them.

"You do not dream of somewhere comforting?" he asked, looking around the cheap crushed velvet strip club, "after all you've been through?"

"Great, even my own sub conscious is turning against me," Dean grumbled, seizing the bottle with a bit more force than was necessary and tipping a liberal amount down his throat before turning to the Angel standing there, "you're not an Angel so lets cut this crap, okay?" he held out the bottle. Michael looked at it and then at him, "what? Man can't get drunk with his own subconscious?"

Michael tilted his head before reaching out and taking the bottle. The glass was warm and smooth against his palm. He did not bother to look at what the label said, the stuff was going to burn anyway. Steeling himself, Michael lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long drink. The liquor burned and twisted through him like a living thing. Following it quickly with another, he lowered the bottle and wiped the few drops of liquor off his lips with the back of his hand. Perhaps it was the dream or perhaps it was because there was no liquor at all, but Michael felt his head spin in response. Dean's hand came out and took the bottle from his grasp, the young man easily tipping down a bit more. Michael watched how he did it, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as well.

"You gonna stand there or are we gonna play this Angel game?" Michael looked at him, "you wanna sit?" silently Michael walked over and sat, taking the offered liquor and knocking back a bit more before passing off the bottle, "so you got some lesson to tell me? You gonna say I'm like Famine says? That I'm one big nothing inside? Empty? Because, I'll tell you, I'm starting to think he might've been onto something."

"You are numb, or trying to be," Michael said, "not dead. You are bearing a great burden, questioning every choice you have made, and yet you make yourself go on," he let the liquor burn through him, "you are numb because it is how you carry on. Shoving the emotion down, pushing everything you have inside so you can do your job. Famine preyed on you."

"Yeah, and what'd he make me crave?"

"Numbness," Michael said looking at Dean, "the release of the emotions that drive you to continue to fight. That is what you crave. It is not physical, it is emotional," the Winchester gave a snort, "which would not be a problem if you did not insist on carrying your burdens yourself."

"Great, here we go," Dean rolled his eyes, "so now my own subconscious is trying to get me to say yes," he snorted, "either that or you're--" his lips paused as his fingers pressed against the bottle, "you're an Angel," he shook his head, "un-fucking-believable. Cant you assholes take a hint?"

"We are not known for subtly," Michael said, "but I am not here to convince you of anything," he looked up at the ceiling, "it has been a very long time since I dreamt," he let his gaze go to the strippers, "I intruded on your dream."

"So you're asleep?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Michael said, "or I think I am," he looked down at his hands, "it is very hard to tell. The last time I was here I had no time for sleep," he added, turning his gaze to Dean.

For some reason _that_ was the tip off.

Dean's eyes widened as the younger man threw himself backwards, the liquor bottle clattering to the floor. Michael let out a breath he had been unaware he was holding and extended a hand. The bottle flew back up, the liquor that had spilled going back into it. Easily the Archangel took a drink. The more he drank, the more Michael found the red clad stripper interesting. After all, the flickering did remind him of fire--fire that he doubted he would be able to use any time soon. Frowning, Michael held up the bottle. He did not think he should be feeling as intoxicated as he did. Slowly he let his eyes lock with the bright ones of the hunter who had shoved himself away from him like a scared little girl. Michael gave an unimpressed exhale before turning to face Dean completely.

"I am not going to hurt you," he said, "i told you I am asleep and I seem to have entered your dream, most likely through our connection."

"Woah woah, we don't have a connection pal," Dean said, "except for your asshole friends coming to try and make me scream yes like a chick."

"Brothers," Michael said, "technically, you have interacted with my brothers."

"So I'm guessing you can see why I'm not so hot on spending more time with any Angel but Cas."

"Your attachment is touching," Michael said, "truly it is. But it is ill placed--"

"Yeah? Well, by my count Cas is the only Angel whose acted even _remotely_ like an Angel should."

Michael looked at Dean. The younger man held his gaze for a moment before lowering his eyes. Michael exhaled softly and looked over his shoulder at the other side of the room. He could practically feel the shift in Dean, as anger took over the confusion that coursed through the poor, broken young man sitting next to him. By the time Dean turned his gaze towards him, Michael was looking back at him. Their eyes locked. Michael slowly stood up, placing the bottle on the ground before he walked forward towards the lit stage. He passed his hand across the image, as if he was wiping a mirror clean. The dream shimmered in the wake of his touch, shifting and altering before it vanished. With it the rest of the strip club was gone, replaced only by an endless white room. He heard Dean make a sound behind him, but whether it was anger, confusion or some combination Michael was not sure.

"I told you that you could not fight city hall," Michael told the Hunter.

"Yeah, if that's so true that why am I still standing here? How come you are in my dream and I'm not some drooling pile of man-mush chained to an Angel-commet."

"Colorful words," Michael said, "and as equally incorrect as everything else that has spewed out of that mouth of yours."

'Yeah? Well if I'm so incorrect, then why the fuck are you here?"

Before Michael could come up with a reply they were back in the lurid velvet strip club. Except any taste that the place held was gone--as were the few cloths the girl's had once been wearing. Sitting on the couch with his arms spread and a smile on his face was Gabriel. Michael and Dean turned towards the Trickster/Archangel. He looked exactly the same. A part of Dean saw the Trickster who he wanted to kill anyway for being a self righteous douche-bag who liked playing God at the expense of others. The rest of him just wanted to kill him because he was an Archangel. It was bad enough that one was there but two? Two just made things a whole lot worse. Behind him he heard Michael make a sound of barely concealed disgust that only made Gabriel's grin widen. Dean shifted his jaw before turning to Michael.

"Get out of my dream jackoff," Dean said glaring at the Archangel in front of him but both knew the insult was directed at the Archangel behind him.

"Not much of a dream is it?" Gabriel asked with a quirk of his eyebrow, reaching down and picking up the bottle of cheap booze, giving it an experimental swish before tossing it aside, "you don't have any sense of imagination."

"Really?" Dean asked, anger dripping from his tone, "because I'm imagining some pretty creative ways to stake you right now."

"Yeah, because that worked _so_ well in the past," the Archangel paused for a moment, "oh wait a minute--"

"That is enough you two," Michael cut them both off as Dean opened his mouth, "Gabriel what are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" Gabriel asked with a grin.

Dean wished he did not recognize the look on Michael's face so well. That combination of anger, frustration and underlying affection. It was the look an older brother gave to his younger when the younger was being, well, a younger brother. Just for a second there was something familiar, relatable about Michael. And then the look was gone and the stick-up-the-ass, take-no-prisoners battle commander was back. Dean locked eyes with the Archangel as Michael looked at him once more, all business tinged with disappointment. Dean realized that he was going to have to ask Castiel how he was supposed to get Angels out of his head, since they seemed to be inclined to come into his dreams. But for the moment there wasn't anything he could do about it except deal with the two of them.

Talk about being a fucking babysitter.

"So what the hell do you two want?" he asked looking between them.

"Leaving you to your own devices has proven to be a very foolish idea," Michael said.

"Yeah, pal, and that's the reason you're asking me to stall an Angel for you," Dean said with a snort.

"Okay Princess-es," Gabriel said appearing between the two of them, "this little power show ain't gonna get anyone anywhere. This is the time when you get to play the game "keep Lucifer from knowing Michael's on earth". What's your prize? How about Lucifer not putting you, your brother and everyone he cared about in a huge amount of pain to torture him into saying yes?"

"So why are you playing into this? What happened to 'i want it to be over'?"

"I was all for that. And then I met these two _idiots _who seemed to think they could change the will of Heaven. I've had some fun with you boys--even if you don't know when to say Uncle--and, what can I say, I'm a fan of the underdog," he shrugged and reached down, "next time, pal, how about you learn to keep some proper booze in your dreams?"

"How about you learn to stay in your own dreams?" Dean demanded looking down at him.

"Angels don't dream genius."

"Well then I'd say its a good thing you're about as far from being an Angel as it gets, buddy," he heard Michael make a sound and turned on the Angel, whatever patience he still had vanishing, "Cas, Sam--everyone, we've been focusing on saving the world. And if you hadn't been sitting on a cloud with your thumb up your ass, maybe it'd be in better shape."

"This coming from--"

"Gabriel," Michael looked at his brother for a moment before turning back to Dean, "you have been fighting, very hard, but you are at your breaking point and we both know it. You have lost sight of what you are fighting for and you have taken on an impossible burden--more than any human can bear," he moved forward to where Dean stood, "do you think I was the only one who heard you? The other Angels did as well and they will come and use that against you--demons too. You cannot do this alone, that is a simple fact and the longer you blindly fight it the worse this will get."

"I'm not saying yes," Dean said, glaring up at the Archangel, "you're not wearing me."

"Yes you have made that very clear," Michael said, "which is why I am standing here in a Vessel that is not mine, with a fraction of my powers. So I will ask you, do you have a plan that does not involve the Colt? Or have you been spending so much time thinking of ways to say 'no' you forgot that if you continue to, you will have finished what you and your brother started."

"Yeah," Dean said, "we're gonna find God," he looked at Michael, "and this whole mess may have been started this time by my brother and me, but you started it a long time ago with your brother."

"Hurling accusations and now you talk of finding God," Michael's lips twitched up in a smile, "you are wasting time Dean."

Gabriel watched the two of them with unabashed amusement. He'd never really been one to hide his emotions and this was just too good to ignore. The narrowing of eyes, the press of lips, the lowering of vocal tones, the drawing up to full height--all of it was exactly the fucking same. Neither of them seemed to realize it either which was, by far, the best part. Gabriel had thought, every time he saw Dean Winchester, that there was something oddly familiar about him. Especially in the way he interacted with his brother and Sam with him. Now he realized that it was because Dean was like Michael, in far more ways than either would ever admit. His grin widening, Gabriel looked between the identical expressions on his brother's face and on Dean's with unabashed delight. Both looked like they would die before they would look away, as if even the smallest, most insignificant of victories would have been too much for them to bear. Egotistical bastards, it was like being back with the whole family all over again. The two continued to stare each other down and just when Gabriel was about to imagine up some food--and maybe some proper booze and better strippers for good measure--the Winchester idiot opened his mouth.

"I know my father's dead, what's your excuse?"

Gabriel choked on his own spit as Michael's features locked down. Any last vestige of emotion vanished from the Archangel's eyes. Michael's emotional control was legendary in Heaven but Gabriel knew it was a load of crap--Lucifer had as well. Michael didn't not feel, he felt very strongly. But like any good commander he put the mission, the battle, before himself and his feelings. And it was his ability to do that that made him such a good commander. Now Gabriel saw just how un-guarded Michael had been with his past self, and just how distant they had become. There had been a time, not too long ago, when he'd have been on Michael's side, laughing at the poor bastard who was too stupid to realize he was already dead when that look came onto Michael's face. Not too long ago at all and yet when Gabriel moved it was between the Archangel and his Vessel, despite everything he'd done to convince the boys to say yes. If there was one thing that Gabriel could appreciate, one facet of the Winchester-ness that he could understand, it was their defiance. Even in the face of certain defeat, they still fought with everything they had in them. It was more than Gabriel could say for most of his family. Stepping between them it was harder to say who looked more surprised. Michael hid it better but it was there all the same and Dean quickly replaced the emotion with a clear desire to hurt them both as much as his frail human body would allow.

"Hey hey hey," Gabriel said, "we all want the world to continue, remember that?"

"What happened to wanting it to be over?" Dean asked looking at him.

"If its over I gotta spend eternity with them," he said jerking his head towards Michael, "so now I am all about the world continuing on," Dean opened his mouth, "don't go all chick flick on me here. I didn't pick a side, I picked a self serving outcome."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night Princess," Dean shot back, sarcasm dripping from his tone before turning to Michael, "so what's your plan?" Michael raised an eyebrow, "you came here and took another Vessel. After all the shit you put me and my family through you're just what? Flying by the seat of your pants?" Michael offered no reply and Dean made a sound of disbelief in the back of his throat, taking no small delight in the emotion that flickered in Michael's eyes, "then why the hell are you here?"

Michael moved forward, past Gabriel who made no motion to stop him. For a moment it looked like Dean was going to throw himself backwards, or to figure out how to control his dreams and cast the two Angels out. But the emotion passed and the young Hunter drew himself up, staring Michael down as the Archangel approached him, standing barely a foot away. This close and Dean could see all the features of a Winchester. He'd never considered that there were other Winchester's out there, or any kind of family really. After all between him and Sam there was enough for ten families worth of dramatics--and that was before the other members of their rag-tag team Free Will. But this was--or had been--their closest living relative. Someone who hadn't been a hunter, who had just been too stupid not to say 'yes' to the Archangel, who had fallen prey to nothing he could control, to being a Winchester. Michael took his time as he looked at Dean, seemingly content to keep silence between them and, for the life of him, Dean realized he could not break it.

"I am not here to make you say yes, nor am I here to join your 'side'. I am here because I am an Angel and it is my duty to be here."

"Could've fooled me," Dean shot back but there was distinctly less power behind the insult than either was used to hearing.

"Like I said," Michael said, "you are at your breaking point. Lashing out at me is not going to change that. You know, the rest of your family is far more inclined to understand the magnitude of this situation. Your father, this man, they said yes."

"Like I said," Dean said, "they can say whatever the hell they want. My answer's still no."

"As you've made very very clear," Michael said, "you know I saw your face that night, when we first met, when you begged me not to erase your mother's memory. When you saw your brother lying there. And I see your face now, its all the same look. If you spent a fraction of that energy that you use to defy and to struggle, then perhaps the world would not be as it is," he glanced at Gabriel before looking back at Dean and lowering his voice, "and perhaps you would not have been so desperate that you would pray to me."

Dean's eyes locked on the Archangel. That night, when Sam's screams and Famine's taunts and even Castiel's comforts had become too much to bear. That night when he had looked up and said he needed help, too lost in his own misery to care that he was praying to the very dickbags who'd put him in the position he found himself. He hadn't directed the prayer to Michael, not in any way that he was consciously aware of, but it seemed to have gone to the Archangel all the same. Dean's eyes widened as they looked at the Archangel. Michael stepped back, moving closer to Gabriel. Like a battle partner used to taking commands, the other Archangel wordlessly moved towards his brother, obviously aware of what Michael was asking. Dean took a step forward, his earlier demands for the jack off Angels to leave his dreams forgotten as he stared at them. Michael turned to face him, his eyes locking with the broken young man whose dreams he had unwillingly invaded.

"Wait, you're saying you--" he stumbled over the words, "you're hear because I prayed to _you_?" Gabriel let out a snort of laughter but neither spared him a glance, "after all the bullshit, you--" he couldn't seem to finish the sentence.

"My brother told you the story, of how he stood defiant against our Father, of how he refused to bow to the humans?" Michael continued to hold his gaze, "He was deaf to the prayers of the people, the children my--our--Father so lovingly created. Gabriel has learned to tune them out. But I, I hear them. I hear your confusion, your fear, your heartbreak. And the voice that I now hear the most, now, is yours."

"Michael," Gabriel's voice was steady with an underlying urgency to it, "we need to go, like now. Homeboy and I got some carving to do."

Michael nodded. Gabriel turned around and looked at Dean.

"Oh and, just fyi, that jacket wasn't water resistant. And I liked that jacket. So those sprinkler's, they don't get you off the hook."

"Dude, seriously?" Dean looked at the Archangel, "you turned my brother into a car."

"Yeah, so? Oh and if I were you, I'd be more pissed about the Herpes thing," Dean looked at him puzzled, "next time you channel surf, stop for the commercials, you'll see what I mean."

Dean opened his mouth but Gabriel touched Michael's shoulder and the two Archangels vanished.

* * *

**Okay so I don't know where this chapter came from, probably because I was soo excited to see Supernatural tonight that I couldn't not write Dean in here. So next time we're gonna zero in on the Michael/Gabriel aspect of this little fic. And there's some sweet moments and we get to explore the brother's relationship a little more. Especially why Gabriel's really hanging with Michael and what Michael's real reasons for being on earth are. **

**So please review! You guys/gals were awesome last time and please keep it up! When you review, I update!**

**So please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of retching pulled Gabriel back to the world of the living.

Eyes snapping open, Gabriel seamlessly sat up and turned to the bed that Michael was supposed to be occupying. He was not. His eyes moved over the confines of the room before landing on the bathroom door. It was half open, having been closed shut in abrupt haste and by a hand that did not understand just how firmly one had to close the bathroom door of a cheap motel room. Gabriel could see a pair of legs sprawled down, leading to the toilet that he knew Michael was doubled over. Gabriel swung his legs over the side of the bed, getting to his feet and padding over to the bathroom. Michael was doubled miserably over the toilet, stomach too empty to vomit properly. The sight was pathetic at best, befitting the place they found themselves in.

And it was not the most pathetic state Gabriel had seen Michael in.

"You got nothing in your stomach," Gabriel said, "there's nothing to come up. Feels worse in some ways. But its all part of the adjustment period and--"

"Shut _up_ Gabriel," came the miserable groan of a reply.

Gabriel bit back a smile at the reply. Michael was right and truly miserable--as he was supposed to be. if he didn't show it Gabriel had a feeling he would've slipped him something. No-one took a Vessel and didn't react. And when an Archangel took one as not-destined as the one Michael now had, well, if he wasn't curled over a toilet for at least a few hours then Gabriel was seriously going to have to question whether or not his brother had made a deal with something much more south than their absent father. Making a strangled sound somewhere between another heave and a sob, Michael's body convulsed as once again nothing came out. With labored movements that still spoke of grace, Michael rolled to his side and leaned back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. His dark hair was slicked with sweat and when it was pushed back from his face, Gabriel could see the differences between Winchesters. His bone structure was delicate, more refined. Like Dean Winchester had been bred with a beautiful woman. But he could also see more of his brother. Not with his own two eyes but with the sense of Angelic-ness he had never quite managed to shake.

"I--" Michael took a breath, "I am adjusting. I am aware," he said, not opening his eyes, "you should--you should seal the room," he said, "I do not know if I will be able to control this for much longer."

"Everything's in place," Gabriel said, fighting the urge to turn and double check it, an old habit of following Michael's word without a second thought.

The more powerful of the two Archangels nodded, his head resting against the tile. Even in his weakened state, Gabriel knew Michael was more than capable of kicking his ass from there to Kingdom Come. It was not a fact he relished but it was one he was forced to acknowledge, especially considering the instability of Michael's power. By sealing the room in an archaic way, he had effectively locked himself in with his brother. No other being would feel the wrath of Michael's power, but he would. Even in a Vessel that was not intended to be his, with his power severely reduced, he was still formidable. Gabriel had his full power, or as full as his power got these days, and it would be enough to keep him alive but it was still going to hurt like a bitch if Michael truly lost control. Water could put out flame, in practice, but there was not a force on earth that could stop what MIchael could do. Gabriel slowly eased himself down from a crouch to a sitting position, folding his legs under himself as he joined his brother on the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

"You want me to do something so you don't blow this Vessel?" he asked, "there aren't that many Winchesters running around."

"No," Michael said shaking his head, "I--we--we need to conserve our power. Secrecy is the our primary weapon now. I can--"

What Michael could or could not do was lost as the Archangel doubled over with a low groan of agony. It had been a long time since Gabriel had seen an Archangel with even a fragment of Michael's power. He saw his brother's power roll across his form, the white hot wave scorching the tile. Gabriel considered moving him back to the bedroom but the fact was that moving MIchael anywhere that there was something flammable was probably a very bad idea. His eyes were closed tightly as his fists curled in a silent struggle. Even as his body began to move out of his control, he still fought against showing weakness. Gabriel watched his shoulders shake as he clenched his fists. A harsher, more desperate sound escaped Michael's lips as he curled further into himself, his shoulders shaking violently as he trembled. And yet the sound was still cut off, he still fought to contain the pain he felt. It was just the two of them and yet he still was determined to appear strong.

And that, if nothing else, showed Gabriel just how far apart he had grown from his fellow Archangels.

Gabriel looked away from the suffering Archangel, a feeling of discomfort lodging itself in his chest. It was one thing to have distance. Emotional, physical--distance made it easier not to care. But to have his brother sitting there, curled around himself on the cheap tile of a cheap motel room, that made it a lot harder to not care. In a little while, be it minutes or hours, Michael would be too lost to care about looking strong. But Gabriel knew he'd be damned before he let it show to anyone. Even the one who had seen him at his lowest point. Michael was still doubled over both in pain and in an effort to hide the pain that he felt. As if Gabriel was not his brother, as if they were not in a motel room but on a battlefield, with the kind of enemies that would exploit every weakness you showed. It was instinct, reinforced by pain and experience.

The spasm passed as Michael let out a long breath, his body collapsing the short distance onto the tile as his forehead pressed against the scorch marked floor. His body was still shaking but now it was with the fatigue and exhaustion of pain that had been felt. Pain that would come again. The adjustment was like stretching a muscle. It was not a long note of agony, it was a dull pulse of it. There were moments when it was unbelievable and moments when it was almost manageable--made manageable by the memory of the agony that had been experienced. Agony that would come again. There were reasons Angels didn't come to earth and there were lots more why Archangels didn't. Reasons that went past the rules. Reasons that were physical. Angels weren't human, it was just part of being an Angel. And Archangels weren't meant to take human form in any but the most dire of circumstances and then they were supposed to go to their chosen, destined Vessels. Products of bloodlines. Planned out products of bloodlines. Not third rate cousins.

"Easy man," Gabriel said, "ea--"

Michael's head flew up and it took all Gabriel had not to throw himself backwards. His eyes were blazing. Not in the emotionally distraught, figurative sense. No, the Archangel's eyes were literally blazing with Angelic fire, the kind of fire that Michael was notorious for. His control was fracturing faster than Gabriel had anticipated and suddenly the Archangel wished he'd listened to him and gone to check the wards he'd put up. But it was too late. Swearing Gabriel reached out before the Archangel could swat his hand away and pressed his palm to his brother's burning forehead. He felt the twinge of pain in his Vessel but the rest of him ignored it and forced his angelic power through his hand. Water, it was his element, the transient nature making it easy for him to perform illusions and create worlds. Now he directed it to his brother, before Michael could make his Vessel blind or destroy it completely. Michael's gaze locked with his as Gabriel held his hand against his forehead.

"Come on man, talk to me," Gabriel said, "tell me something--tell me why you're here."

It was a low move but Gabriel wasn't stupid enough to think that he was the reason his brother was there. Something else had happened, something to get Michael from point A to point B. Something that would make him leave Heaven, the other Angels--even that maggot Zachariah behind. Something huge. And Michael wouldn't tell him, not normally. But maybe, just maybe, he'd spill the beans now. After all that Gabriel had done the twist of shame he felt at the low action surprised him but he pushed it aside. This was his party that was being gate crashed, he was damn sure going to know why.

"I was in the garden," he sad looking up at him, "after--in Heaven--they--they came," Michael stumbled over the words, "they were there and I followed. I heard--" he stopped, agony in his eyes.

"Heard what?" Gabriel questioned as his eyes rolled, "Michael--_Michael_ what did you hear?"

"Two hundred years!" Michael shouted, his voice more raw than Gabriel had heard in a long time as he ripped his head away from Gabriel's hand, the fire of his power roaring in response, "nothing for two hundred years! And the first words he says are to _them_!"

"God talked to them?" Gabriel demanded, too shocked to act cool, "what did he say?"

"I waited! I watched! I did everything he asked because I thought i was doing his will! That if I was doing something wrong he would tell _me_. But he--he's just watching. He's going to watch them burn all burn because--" he doubled over, "because he doesn't care," he finished with a bitter, angry laugh that ended with a cough as his body spasmed again. More fire streaked out, blackening the tiles further.

"Okay, come on man, lets get you up," Gabriel said hauling Michael to his feet. His legs buckled but Gabriel was still able to maneuver him over to the bathtub, "you're gonna set this whole place on fire unless I keep a hand on you," fumbling slightly he turned the water on, "I know, I know, no Angelic power," unable to get him fully out of his cloths he settled for stripping the older Archangel to his jeans and undershirt before maneuvering him into the bathtub, "that'll keep you from sparking the place more," Gabriel said, "no Angelic power required."

Michael said nothing as the water streamed across him, darkening the fabric of his jeans and turning the white of his undershirt translucent. At least now if he lost more control the fire would be put out by the water. The physical fire anyway. The other kind they could deal with later, after there wasn't any immediate threat of an actual fire. Physically burning the motel down would be bad. It would attract angelic attention and the kind of human attention that Gabriel knew people didn't really want them to have. Somehow he didn't think the police would be amused at the sight of a half dead man who would give them third degree burns the moment they pulled him from the bathtub. No, it was better for everyone if they just kept Michael from setting the whole place on fire and from attracting the attention of every Angel in the area.

The knock that came on the door sent Gabriel's stomach on a roller coaster.

Gabriel looked at Michael before looking at the doorway. The knock sounded again, louder this time. Gabriel made sure Michael wasn't in danger of drowning before he stepped out of the bathroom and into the main part of the room. The knock came again, louder this time. Gabriel reached out with his own power, searching the creature on the other side of the door to see if it was a demon, angel or something else. Swearing loudly, Gabriel strode across the room and yanked the door open, seized the man on the other side of the door by the lapels of his trench coat and yanked him into the room.

"Damn it Castiel, what the fuck are you doing here?" he demanded, kicking the salt by the door back into place.

The Angel looked at him without an ounce of shame or fear in his gaze--not that Gabriel had ever really seen shame or fear in Castiel's eyes. Surprise, maybe, but not fear. And never shame. Castiel wasn't ashamed of what he had done or what he had become. He was looking at Gabriel with the same look that he'd shown him when he had taken the Winchesters into the illusion world. Except now, if anything he looked angrier than before. Gabriel let out an angry breath. Of course he was pissed. He and Michael had invaded the drams of the only person that the Angel truly cared about anymore. Gabriel took a breath in, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the smell coming off the Angel.

"Are you drunk?" he demanded.

"No," the Angel stated, a note of angry pride in his tone, "i am hungover."

"Congratulations," Gabriel said, tone dripping with sarcasm, "what are you doing here?"

"You invaded Dean Winchester's dream," the Angel said looking at him, obviously upset by the fact, "he has suffered enough because of your games--"

"Hey," Gabriel cut him off, "Michael didn't mean to get into his dreams. It was an instinct thing because the two of them have a connection. I went in after him because Michael--" Gabriel stopped, "it won't happen again."

"It already has," Castiel snapped, "and I am unable to go in after my friend."

"Well then at least Dean'll know what's happening--"

"Its not Dean this time," Castiel said.

"You don't mean--"

**

* * *

**

It was hot.

The dusty road stretched for miles all around him. One endless road. High above him Michael could feel the burn of the sun, the dryness of the dust as it blew across the toes of his boots. He had heard before that the path to heaven was a road. It took people through their most powerful memories, the ones that flashed before your eyes before they died. Your greatest hits. But the road was for humans, it was their path to eternal paradise. Michael knew that he was anything but human. In fact, the last thing that he could remember was being put under water as his control on his power slipped further away. It was a smart move on Gabriel's part. He was unsure when he lost consciousness, only that he must have once more reached out to Dean and his dream world. And yet even as he stood on the road he realized that this dream also had a different feeling. Michael frowned as he looked at the endless road from under the shadow of the hat on his head. Michael frowned as he looked down the endless, hot, dusty road.

"You don't have to walk," a voice stopped him before he could take a step further, "it just goes on. And it won't go anywhere either."

Michael turned his head to the side to see Sam Winchester sitting on the ground. He looked much better, now that he was not lying on the ground bleeding from the gut wound. Better but still utterly miserable. He was suited though to the dusty road. Dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, he too had a hat on in protection against the sun as well as boots like Michael knew he was wearing. Instead of heading down the road, Michael walked towards the young man until he stood over him. Sam followed his progress with his eyes, continuing to look at him even as Michael made his way over to where the younger of the Winchesters was. By the time Michael made it to where Sam was sitting, the young man's head was tilted all the way back but he ddi not seem to be off put by having to stare into the sun. His gaze was filled with suspicion as he watched him and Michael had a feeling he was not the first visitor to come to Sam Winchester's dream.

"So," Sam said, "are you here to try and kill me or try and get me to say yes?" he asked, voice laced with bitterness, "whichever way, could we do this now? I'd like to try and get some real sleep tonight."

"Neither," Michael said, surprised to find his voice hoarse, "I apologize but it seems I invaded another person's dreams again," he looked around the road, "I am sorry," the Archangel continued, "it is my adjustment phase to my Vessel and I--" he paused, looking at the stunned look on the young man's face, "I am Michael," he said.

"You're Michael?" the younger man looked at him.

"You don't seem surprised," Michael said.

"There isn't a lot that surprises me anymore," Sam said as the Archangel seated himself next to Sam, "and I heard Dean. You're the only one who can still surprise him."

There was a surprising amount of bitterness in the young man's voice as his fingers tightened around each other. Michael felt a jolt of surprise at the fear that laced through him. He had heard stories of Sam Winchester, the human who would be Lucifer's Vessel. And yet the stories, the faint observations he had had of him, all were sorely lacking in preparing him for meeting the young man himself. Clearly he was not the first otherworldly visitor to the young man's dreams and yet Sam still reacted with his wits around him. Bitter, sarcastic and yet Sam still warned him not to continue down the endless road. Dean dreamed of strippers and booze and forgetting and Sam dreamed of roads and pathways that led out of the existence he found himself in. Michael rested his hands on his knees and looked over at the younger hunter.

"Why are you dream walking?" Sam asked.

"Dream walking?" Michael repeated, "I--" the bathtub, the loss of control, the bitter memory of Joshua's words, "I am adjusting to my Vessel. My body reacted to protect itself."

"Oh," Sam said, "and you came into my dream?"

"I went into one of Dean's," Michael said, "he was less than pleased," Michael looked at him carefully, "but you do not seem surprised or upset."

"I've gotten used to it," Sam said lowering his head and MIchael realized he had not revealed to his brother that he was suffering from night time visitors.

Michael looked down at his hands. Demons he could understand but if Angels, Angels had been torturing him just as much. Angels. How pathetic had they become? Pathetic and desperate enough to try and torture a poor boy into playing the role he had been 'destined' for. The young man sitting next to him was fighting just as hard as his brother. The only difference was that while the Angel had wanted to keep Dean alive so that he would let Michael enter him, neither side had any qualms about killing Sam. If the Demons did it Lucifer would just be able to get to him with far more ease, if the Angels did it they could stop the Apocalypse all together. And yet he kept fighting with everything he had in him. It was the most heartbreaking, hopeless thing that Michael had ever witnessed.

"I am sorry," Michael said before he could stop himself. Surprise shone naked on the younger man's face, "the way you look at us--" he closed his eyes, "people are not supposed to look at Angels like that."

"You're here because of a look that someone gave you?" Sam demanded.

"No," Michael said, "I followed you in Heaven. God has washed his hands of this matter," he looked at his hands and then at the young man, "I waited for orders. Orders that I have realized will not come."

"And your Vessel?"

"Not my intended one," Michael said, "or one that I'm destined to take," he looked down thoughtfully.

"And he's holding up?" Sam asked.

"Yes," MIchael said, "my control is somewhat better than that of my brother. But raw power is power," he sighed, "if I am able to make it through tonight, the adjustment should be much smoother from this point on."

"I--" Sam let out a breath and shook his head, "I'm sorry, this just--this is a little weird. Even for us. After everything that you and the others put my brother through, you just took a new Vessel?" he questioned sharply.

"You said your brother," Michael said, "what about yourself? Do you not think that you deserve to be saved?"

"Just answer the question," Sam said.

"Yes I took a new Vessel," Michael said, "you are aware of the story. The Falling, the Casting out of the unfaithful?" Sam nodded, "then you know that it was not just the love of my Father that gave me the strength to fight him. It was you all as well. My Father told me to bow before the humans, to love you more than I loved God, more than I loved myself. That kind of love, you can't fake it," he smiled faintly, "and you can't just turn it off."

"But you stood back--"

"I am not proud of what I did," Michael admitted softly, "and whatever I will tell you, it will all be excuses. Good ones, but excuses none the less," he looked at Sam, "I do not want to fight my brother, not again."

"So you were just going to sit up there," Sam said shaking his head, "you sound like Gabriel."

"Gabriel sounds like me," Michael said. The younger Winchester raised an eyebrow, "I am older," he said.

"Yeah," Sam said, "but we met him first."

"Fair enough," Michael said finally.

"So does Heaven know you're gone?" Sam asked.

"Not yet," Michael replied, "I do not want more innocent blood to be split. Not unnecessarily."

Sam nodded quietly.

They sat in silence for a while, neither speaking. No other Angels came or went but neither did any demons. Just the two of them.

"Can I ask you something?" Sam asked finally. Michael looked at him and nodded, "do I--" the hunter looked away before looking back, "do I remind you of him? Of Lucifer?"

"No," Michael said, "Lucifer was--" he stopped, "he was angry. Angry in a way that I should have known he would not listen. I do not see that in you. Not in the way I saw in him."

"I--" Sam began before stopping, ducking his head in a way that made Michael think he was almost embarrassed, "oh," he finished softly.

"You do remind me of someone," Michael said.

"Who?" Sam asked. Michael looked at him, "oh no," Sam began, shaking his head, "you don't mean--"

"Gabriel?" Michael asked, "yes, actually, I do."

Sam fixed him with a look of such pure disgust at the statement that for the first time since he had come to earth, Michael laughed.

* * *

**I realized I hadn't seen a lot in the way of Sam/Michael interactions. So I wanted to play around a little with that! **

**Remember to please review! You guys kicked ass last time! Please do it again! Reviews means I want to update and you want updates!  
**

**So please review! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Damn it I can't believe what they did to Gabster! Not cool! He's gotta have SOMETHING up his sleeve! **

***clings to blind hope***

**Back to the story!**

* * *

Gabriel rested his elbows on his knees and looked at Castiel.

"You look like shit," he said.

Castiel glared but did not correct the Archangel. He did look like shit and they both knew it. Pale, tight lipped, it looked like it was a miracle the Angel could stand upright at all much less like he could form angry words at him. Gabriel had seen the look before in the Winchesters. Broken, beaten, no chance of fucking winning and they still fought with everything they had in them. Castiel looked like he could barely stand up strait without someone pinning him against a wall and yet he was still standing there. Gabriel had a feeling that if he did say something to the Angel about sitting down Castiel would spew more angry words and between the fact that he was helping Michael and the fact said Archangel was half dead in the bathroom, Gabriel wasn't in the mood for the angry spewing of an Angel who was, technically, under his command.

"Why are you here?" Castiel questioned.

"Why am I here?" Gabriel repeated, "what kind of stupid ass question is that?"

"You have done enough with the Winchesters," he said, his eyes moving purposefully to the bathroom door where Michael was laying, "both of you," he looked back at Gabriel, "why are you here?"

Gabriel leaned back in the chair with a wide grin, stretching himself out. Castiel's eyes hardened as they looked at him sitting down but Gabriel just let his grin widen and cracked his neck for good measure. Castiel watched him like a hawk, his eyes wary as Gabriel held his silence, studying the Angel in front of him with a tilt of his head. Neither was willing to back down. Neither was willing to show that they were the weaker of the two. even though Gabriel was the stronger, Castiel had always been the kind of Angel who fought for what he believed in. And at the moment it was clear he believed that Gabriel should get as little satisfaction as possible. it took more than Gabriel had thought to hold himself in a relaxed pose and not move forward and show Castiel just how stupid he was being.

He never got the chance.

"That is more than enough out of both of you," Michael cut the two of them off, walking into the room, his eyes sweeping over it.

"Michael," Gabriel's eyes widened as he stood up, "shit man, should you be up--"

"I am fine, Gabriel," Michael said, his eyes daring Gabriel to question him before his gaze landed on Castiel, "are you drunk, Castiel?"

The bitch of it was that Michael did look fine. He was probably also the only Angel who could stand in front of them wearing nothing but a cheap motel towel and still look incredibly foreboding. Even Castiel's eyes dropped for a moment, in a show of deference to the Commander of the Host. Michael did not look pale or weak as he had moments ago. Apparently there was no justice in the universe. Michael wasn't going to spend the next three days puking and begging for death. Gabriel glanced at the clock in the wall and realized it had barely been a few hours. A few hours and now he was fine. He sure as fuck looked better than Castiel who still looked like he was having a difficult time remaining upright.

"He's just hungover," Gabriel said finally.

"I see," Michael said cooly, his eyes going from Gabriel to Castiel "why are you here, Castiel?"

"You know why I'm here," The Angel said, disgust dripping from his tone, "I want you to leave the Winchester's alone. They've already told you no and they aren't going to say yes--"

Castiel trailed off as Michael stepped towards him, but the Angel held his ground. Michael moved with the grace of a panther as he approached the Angel, each step measured, precise and utterly dripping with deadly intent. Gabriel watched intently, waiting for Castiel to shy away or at the very least look away but the lower ranking Angel did neither. He stared Michael down at the Archangel, the Commander of the Heavenly Host, the most 'badass' warrior in Heaven approached, stopping only when he was right in front of him. Michael's eyes swept over the hungover Angel who met his gaze without an ounce of shame. Michael must have seen something, something Gabriel did not for when he spoke the smile that played on his lips was one that Gabriel recognized painfully well.

"Its easier, isn't it?" Michael said, "to feel strong, invincible even, when there are untold miles separating us. Its not so easy now, is it? Now that I am here, now that I could destroy you with a single touch? This is not my true Vessel but that won't make a difference for a single Angel," slowly Michael moved his hand out, fingers moving towards Castiel's temple, "do you still feel invincible?" he asked, letting fire brush his fingertips.

"They said no," Castiel replied, even as his skin reddened from the barest spark from Michael's fingers.

Gabriel swallowed thickly. This was bad. Even in his weakened form Michael could smoke Castiel in the time it would take the lower Angel to say 'fuck you'. But even he couldn't do it without alerting every Angel or Demon within a ten mile radius. Secrecy was their main weapon now, Gabriel knew it, Michael knew it too. But Michael had fucked his own plan over before, only the last time he'd done it the world had almost ended. Gabriel cast his eyes around the room. He really did not want Michael to fuck his plan over but by the same hand he didn't want to have to save Castiel. Though it would be the fucking cherry on the save-the-world sundae.

"Yes," Michael said, "that is why I have taken a new Vessel."

"All the torture, all that you put them through--and you expect me to believe that you just chose another vessel?" Castiel demanded.

The air seemed to change as Michael turned to Castiel, his eyes sparking with anger.

"Believe, Castiel? I do not care what you believe," Michael said, his eyes blazing as he stared the lesser Angel down, "your disobedience has cost us _much_, brother."

"I acted as I saw fi--"

"You acted with your emotions," Michael said, rounding on him, "you followed your _heart_ Castiel. My father may have seen fit to restore you but his judgement has been decidedly clouded since this began."

"You gave me the order to raise Dean," Castiel said.

"Because it was necessary. And now with your influence he truly believes he can end this war. He is a human! Legions have fallen against the Light Bringer, what chance could a human possibly have against him?" Michael questioned, his tone hard. Castiel was silent and Gabriel just felt uncomfortable.

"Hey guys maybe we should--"

"Shut up Gabriel!" both Angels said without looking at him.

"If you were going to kill me you already would have," Castiel said, his eyes not leaving Michael's.

"No," Michael said, "I am not going to kill you Castiel. Your idiotic actions--condemning as they were--have made it so that you are our greatest chance of convincing Dean of what needs to be done--" Castiel opened his mouth, "he said no, I realize that, but it does not change the fact that it _must_ be his hand."

Castiel looked at him angrily.

"Yes, Castiel, I was not being figurative I was being literally. It literally must be his hand that ends this. Something that would be easier if _I_ was in his body."

"It is not that simple--"

"Yes, Castiel, it was," Michael said, "now you have a task to perform. I trust I do not need to send Gabriel in your place?"

Castiel was silent, Michael's gaze was unwavering before the lower Angel seemed to decide to cut his losses and leave with a reprimand--and his skin in tact. It was hard to teleport when one was hungover but Castiel performed the task, disappearing without so much as a sound. Michael did not crumple or collapse or do anything but stand there, his eyes locked on the spot where the Angel had once stood. Gabriel half expected his brother to collapse. Minutes ago Michael had looked like he was at death's door. But now he stood there, like he was not in a Vessel that was his destined one, like he was not breaking every fucking rule in the book. Like he was not just standing there in a towel.

But he was and he had and at the end of the day, though it killed Gabriel to admit it, Michael was still the strongest Archangel he had ever seen.

Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his head dipping slightly forward. But his feet remained on the ground, his spine remained erect. The dip of his head was the most outward indication he would give to what he felt inside. He made no movement to fall to the ground even though Gabriel could hear the rush of water from the shower that he had dumped Michael into. For a moment he held the silence in the room, keeping his mouth shut as he waited for some sign Michael wasn't going to fall to the ground like a bag of fucking bricks. But after a tense moment Michael's eyes opened, looking first at the ground and then at the Archangel standing in front of him.

"So," Gabriel said, fighting to keep his voice light, "you got any bright ideas about how you're gonna kill Lucifer?"

"We are not," Michael said. Gabriel's brow furrowed, "if we kill Lucifer, the world ends. Our battle, it is the harboring of the end. And i we were in our Vessels, it would be an option. But I do not have the strength in this body--no more than he does in his Vessel."

"So what are you going to do?"

"_We_ are going to send him back to Hell. We are going to restart the clock. The world will go on, at least for the next few millennia."

"Not that I don't think this plan isn't brilliant--because I do--but lets be realistic--"

"I know about the cave, Gabriel," Michael said, turning his back to his brother.

Denials and retorts died on Gabriel's tongue as he stared at Michael's back.

He had exposed his wings.

It was the only explanation for what was there. Swirls of red, too perfect to have been done by hand decorated the sides of the Vessel's back and its upper arms, ending right where Michael's wings would have extended. That place was marked by two messy lines of Enochian sigils, scribbled upside down by a desperate hand. Michael had done what was necessary, but it had come at a price. Even with his healing the physical power of his Grace had affected the Vessel beyond repair. The young man would bear the marks of Michael's power for the rest of his life. Gabriel realized that the towel was necessary for more than one reason. He did not need to peer into the bathroom to know it looked more like the scene of a massacre than a motel room. They were never getting the deposit on this shit hole back, of that the Archangel was sure.

"Sit on the bed," Gabriel said motioning to the thing. Michael turned towards him, "you can't go around looking like that," Gabriel said, "and here on earth we like to wear something called shirts. Shoes too, or you get no service."

"I have risked our exposure with enough power," Michael said glancing at Gabriel.

"No shit," Gabriel said, "lost the deposit on this place too. Now sit," Michael did not, "Relax, I'm not going to use any power," he said holding out his hand where a small white tube rested, "burn ointment. Holy or not you're still fucking burned. Sit down tough guy before I gotta drag your sorry ass everywhere."

Michael sat on the bed but the movement was done with more disdain than Gabriel thought possible. Settling his hands on his knees, Michael held himself ram rod strait. Gabriel inwardly rolled his eyes before walking over to his brother. Uncapping the ointment, Gabriel coated his fingertips with the stuff and reached forward, beginning to spread it across the expanse of Michael's shoulders. If it had been a normal tube, it would have been empty in moments. But the tube never ran out as Gabriel treated the massive burns that spread across Michael's shoulders. Michael stiffened at the touch but he did not make a sound. To anyone else he looked as if he just felt uncomfortable and Gabiel was sure on some level that was true. But there was more to it.

There always was.

"So, you got any idea where Dad is?" Gabriel asked him finally, trying to focus on something other than what was happening.

Michael was silent but his shoulders pulled together as he tensed. God's disappearance, it was clearly a sore subject with the Archangel and Gabriel realized that he'd as much as told him that on the bathroom floor. Gabriel's fingertips came to rest on one of the lines of sigils, in some kind of gesture of comfort. But like everything else it was ill received by the Commander of the Host.

"It does not matter," Michael snapped, "we need to keep moving Gabriel."

"Yeah, yeah," Gabriel said, moving his hand back to the burns, "look you came before the end of the world--that's got to count for something--"

"I do not need comfort, Gabriel," Michael said, getting to his feet, "not from you."

"Hey--you're not--" Gabriel began but the Archangel cut him off.

"I am _fine_. I have endured worse before, I will endure worse again. We need to keep moving."

Gabriel watched him storm off into the bathroom before dropping the tube to the bed with a miserable sigh. It disappeared before it could drop against the violent and horribly colored bedspread. Two Archangels were in a motel room and they could barely manage to keep themselves in the same minimally small motel room together. That was Michael alright. Brave, strong and utterly blind to everything not directly related to the mission objective. Michael had always been so single minded. He'd thrown his own brother out of heaven without a second thought as to what the consequences of that action would be. And he had been dealing with the ramifications of that choice, of performing his duty, for over two millennia--they all had.

Resting his head in his hands, Gabriel looked over at the bathroom door. Michael was getting his cloths back on, he knew that. and with any luck he wasn't burning them to ash. Of course Michael was more of a burn-it-to-ash-guy than a blow-dry-guy. Driven, focused, utterly blind to the consequences. It was all just a part of Michael's immeasurable charm. But at least the son of a bitch knew how to get the job done. Most of the time anyway. Gabriel just wished that sometimes it didn't come at quite so high a cost. But once again that was just part of the deal when it came to Michael the Archangel.

Sure enough within ten minutes Michael stepped out of the bathroom.

His jeans bore singe marks and Gabriel was sure that the buttons on his shirt hadn't looked quite so melted when he had puled it off him, but at least the fabric of his clothing was more or less in tact. The anger was still flickering in Michael's eyes but even the emotion was incapable of masking everything the Archangel felt. Emotion was swimming in Michael's eyes, though Gabriel was certain that if hadn't been himself, if he hadn't known Michael as well as he did, he would have only seen the anger.

"Damn if I didn't know you that well I'd say you were heartsick," Gabriel said, cocking an eyebrow in the direction of his older brother.

Michael gave him a look that made Gabriel's heart plunge, though he knew he hid the emotion better than his brother hid the pain of their father's abandonment. It was full of disappointment, anger, everything that Gabriel knew Michael felt but tried not to show. That was the problem. Michael had always thought he was much better at hiding what he felt than he actually was. Gabriel remembered back in Heaven he and Lucifer had laughed at their older brother's inability to hide his emotions from them--while Raphael looked on with disdain at their blatant disrespect of the Commander of the Host. Neither had taken him seriously. Raphael always had a huge stick up his ass. Kind of like Michael.

"We need to keep moving," Michael said.

"We can't go anywhere," Gabriel said, "you're barely standing as it is. You can bullshit everyone else but not me."

That does not matter," Michael said flatly, "we must keep moving--"

Gabriel did not know what possessed him to move. They did need to keep moving, even the weakest of Michael's soldiers would have said that and Gabriel was far from the weakest. Lucifer would exploit everything though, every weakness, every supposed strength, every opening he could. Top shape was the understatement of the decade for what they needed to be to even have a shot at pulling off what needed to be accomplished. Michael stiffened at the fingers that pressed to the base of his spine, his already erect posture becoming even moreso. Gabriel's free hand came out to press against his brother's chest, steadying him as Michael fought what would eventually work its way through his system. It did not matter. Gabriel was the third oldest Archangel in Heaven but even he had learned a few things that the older Archangels did not know.

"Sorry, brother," Gabriel said, and there was regret in his tone as Michael tried to glare in the instant before his eyes rolled up and he collapsed against Gabriel, "you can hate me all you want, but I'm not going to risk loosing you to Lucifer again."

* * *

**Ok so the next chapter is chock full of Michael goodness and is FINALLY from his POV. **

**So get ready!  
**

**In the mean time please review! You'll make your friendly neighborhood author aka me very happy AND inspire me to update!  
**

**So please review! **


	6. Chapter 6

He was floating.

Not awake and, he imagined, not fully asleep. Somewhere in between the two which, if experience was any indication, could mean nothing good. Unlike before there were no naked women, no dusty roads, no nothing except for endless blackness that he strangely found comforting. He could see no speck of light, no glimmer of a false hope or an even falser God. Perhaps this was his dream. Perhaps the endless darkness, the warmth, the comfort, the simple _nothingness_ was where his mind sought comfort.

Perhaps he really was that dead inside.

Michael looked around, trying to find something to get his bearings only to find there truly was no way to find anything. He was ungrounded. He could feel no firmness beneath his feet, no breeze to touch his hair-no wind to feel surrounding his wings. Those he could feel and the feeling was alien. His body felt like it was occupying a Vessel but he could feel his wings, in a way that he had never felt them before. They did not burn against the skin of his Vessel, skin peeling and withdrawing as the holy fire and Grace burned its way through flesh that was never meant to feel such a thing-that was incapable of withstanding it. But he could feel his wings, the muscles and bones blending seamlessly with the human body he occupied. His wings had taken on a physical shape and he could practically _feel_ the power that twisted and burned through him.

Full power, he really was dreaming.

Michael flexed his wings against the darkness. His body was hypersensitive but in the deadened place he found himself in that made no difference. He could hardly see what was up and down, much less whether he could use his wings in the strange place. He moved forwards as he did in his Vessel, one foot in front of the other, even though he wasn't entirely convinced he moved at all.

Not until he saw that he wasn't alone.

Before him was an Archangel, dressed in armor, his wings tucked neatly on his back. The Arc was magnificent-as only a true Archangel could be and yet when Michael saw him his stomach gave an uncomfortable swoop at the familiar form.

It was, after all, him.

The younger, brasher, version of himself. Grace and blood and a hundred things stained the once polished armor he had donned with hands so sure of what they must do. Those hands, they were limp and listless by his sides, free of the blade God himself had made to end the War. His face-if what he had could be called a face-was blank, numb even as he stared helplessly down. They were grounded in nothing but Michael knew that he was looking down. He watched as this version of himself continued to stare, unable to look away before his knees buckled and he dropped onto the ground.

"Michael-Michael!"

The Gabriel that ran towards him was not the Gabriel who had knocked him out-nor was he the Gabriel that had run from Heaven. He was the Messenger, God's voice, but now that voice was edged with panic. The armor he wore was stained and beaten as well. Even as he ran he clutched the blade he carried like it was a lifeline. Still there was a franticness to the Gabriel that ran towards him, an unpolished part of him that used to make Michael smile, that reminded him of a human in all the ways that humans were good. Gabriel ran and did not stop until he was right in front of him. Eyes wide, Gabriel grabbed Michael's shoulder but the older Angel did not even react.

"Michael we have to go," Gabriel said, fingers tightening on the armor as he looked around, "we have to get out of here."

"No," his voice was flat, dead even, "Lucifer-"

Behind the version of his younger self, Michael watched Gabriel's eyes close, his features twisting in pain. His younger self did not even seem to realize what was happening. Just as quickly as the pain had shone on his face, it was gone. Gabriel moved his hand down so that it gripped Michael's flesh, the touch real and firm. His other self started at it but he did not look away from the darkness below. Michael knew what would happen, he had lived through it. But he felt his entire body tense as his younger self began to speak.

"He's not dead," desperation crept into his voice, "he's not dead. He Fell-" Gabriel's arms locked around him, "Gabriel! I can save him, I can-"

"He doesn't want you to save him!" Gabriel's voice was loud, desperate as he struggled to hold his brother back, "you have to let him go-"

"No!" his voice was loud, filled with denial, "no my hand slipped-I would have-I would have held on. He _wanted_ me to-"his voice faltered, "the sword," Michael turned, breaking Gabriel's hold, "you threw me the sword!"

The accusation was as raw and pain filled as the rest of him. In his current state Michael cringed as the younger version of himself rounded on his brother. Gabriel's hands fell to his sides but the young Archangel looked anything but apologetic at his actions. His younger self's eyes widened and then narrowed at the confirmation his accusation. His own eyes moved from the pair to the sword laying on the ground, the blade almost mockingly clean and bright. Michael's eyes left the blade and went back to the two Archangels. He watched as fire burned in his younger self's eyes, watched as his hands clenched, watched as Gabriel gave him something to be angry at.

"Why?" Michael demanded, "you threw me that blade. You knew-you knew I would grab it and you-you-" he stopped speaking, seemingly too angry to form words.

"We have to get out of here," Gabriel repeated, his voice low and edged as his eyes darted around, "Brother-"

"You are not my brother!" Michael winced at his younger self's pain filled declaration, "you are a coward, a fool-" his younger self's eyes shut, features contorting in pain, "it should have been you."

Gabriel's eyes widened, his mouth parting as he stared at him. Michael cringed as his younger self stared into the eyes of his little brother, his gaze furious and hurt. But for all his insight Gabriel didn't see the hurt. He looked at Michael as though the Archangel had run him through with a blade, as though he had cast him down to the depths of hell. But Michael-the Michael standing there-didn't see that. All he saw was the younger Archangel who had thrown him a sword, knowing that instinct would override everything else. Even the blind love a brother had for another. The pain in Gabriel's eyes was crippling and Michael briefly wondered how his younger self could be so blind. But blind he was as he looked down at Gabriel, unapologetic.

His younger self turned away from Gabriel, turning back to where Lucifer had fallen, intention clear in his eyes. Gabriel saw it too, saw what Michael was planning. He was fast, almost impossibly so. But Gabriel, Gabriel was sneaky. Sneaky in a way that had gotten him into a lot of trouble many many times. His younger self moved with impossible speed but there was a distance to go.

All Gabriel had to do was stick his foot out.

Michael watched as his younger self tripped, thrown off balance. Suddenly Gabriel was in front of him, blocking his way. The younger Archangel ducked, grabbing the sword that he had thrown to his brother and throwing it in the sheath on his back as well. Michael watched his younger self's eyes narrow furiously at the defiance. He knew what would come next, and even so he found himself tensing as his younger self slammed his palm into Gabriel's chest. The younger Arc went flying with the force of the blow, only to appear a second later. His younger self was prepared, no sooner had Gabriel come within reach that he backhanded the younger Arc across the blackness.

In his present self, Michael watched his younger self beat Gabriel. Each wound, each agony, each attack Gabriel healed or blocked but he did not return them. He never attacked. The most Gabriel would do was raise his hand to block. He would not fight him. He would not engage Michael's attacks. He blocked and healed as desperation took over the force in Michael's attacks, the precision and strength slowly fading away as his movements became more and more frantic. Michael could see the worry and fear that burned in Gabriel's eyes as he watched his brother break down, but the younger Angel did not abandon him.

Michael did not see the point where the fight turned, where instead of hitting Gabriel, suddenly his younger self was grabbing him and pulling him closer. Gabriel did. Gabriel wrapped his arm and his wings around his brother, pulling Michael against him as the stronger, older Archangel's knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Gabriel fell with him, landing in a tangle of limbs on the ground as the two Archangels clutched each other in anguish at their lost brother.

"I wasn't going to follow them!" Michael howled, his younger, anguished voice echoing in the space in spite of Gabriel's embrace, "I wasn't going to!"

"I know Mikey, I know," Gabriel whispered, clutching his brother.

"Why-"

"I can't loose you," Gabriel said squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, "he would have pulled you down with him. You can't Fall, you can't!"

Gabriel's own voice cracked with emotion and in his present self Michael found he wanted to do nothing more than hold the younger Archangel. Anguish was written all over Gabriel's face, the emotion raw and naked. There was none of the humor or mirth that would one day make the Archangel famous for being able to convince virgins they were mothers of Messiahs and men not to kill their sons. At that moment he looked like a younger brother doing everything in his power to help the older one that had always comforted him. Gabriel looked as broken as he knew his younger self felt, but the determination was bright in his eyes.

Michael watched as the scene seemed to shift, changing from the darkness and the desolation to a place far more beautiful.

His eyes took in the high sloped ceilings made of marble so pure and white it seemed as if light had solidified and been made into walls. Golden light streamed through the panes of glass, bathing the marble in its bright glory. Once more Michael knew he was a spectator, that he would be powerless to do anything. Once more his gut twisted as he took in the two figures that stood in the hall.

Gone was the battle stained armor, in its place was a golden cloth so pure it seemed to have been woven out of the light itself. The two angels wore faces so beautiful that no mortal could have withstood gazing upon them. Wings of pure light spread for their shoulders, reaching towards the heavens. One held a cloth wrapped bundle, the other a satchel. The first angel held out the cloth wrapped bundle.

"I got what I could, but it isn't everything you asked," he said, a note of regret in his voice.

"Its fine," Gabriel replied, his tone short as his eyes glanced around, seeking any threat, "I'll manage."

The other nodded, glancing around himself. Neither wished to be caught with such an exchange. Even if the contents of the package were a mystery to Michael, from the shifting of the two usually upbeat Angels Michael could guess it was something the other was not to be leaving Heaven with. Sliding the bundle into the satchel at his side, Gabriel nodded to the other Angel before setting off down the hallway.

"No parting advice?" the other quipped, a weak smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," Gabriel said turing around but not slowing his pace, "wait for a war, grab something valuable and fake your own death," he grinned, "or better yet, have someone grab it for you."

"Sorry, I'm a bit more hands on than that," the other angel returned, his smile turning genuine.

"Always were Bathlazar, you always were," Gabriel said before turning around and continuing down the corridor.

Michael watched as Gabriel made his way towards the doors that would lead him from this place. He wold make it too, running off like the coward he had become. Michael knew there were reasons, there always were reasons. But none of them were particularly good, none except for the fact that the one Gabriel had held above all other could no longer look him in the eye. And the blame for that was squarely on his shoulders.

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael could see the figure of his past self watching Gabriel run with shadowed eyes.

"You know out of all the times when you could have turned, this was the one I was betting on," a voice said to his right.

Michael waited before turning to look at the man who sat next to him, in a chair that most certainly had not been there a moment ago. The lithe, almost androgynous body did not belong to the man lounging on the throne, no more than the body Michael currently wore belonged to him. And yet the disdain written on the man's face, the disgust for what he wore, that was most certainly his. With inhuman grace, the man stood up, a walking stick appearing in his hand and tapping the ground softly.

Michael said nothing. Just the fact that this man, this demon, was in his head meant that he was much weaker than he would have thought. His stony silence, however, seemed only to amuse the man further and the satisfied smirk that played on his lips made it even more difficult to keep his lips together. The man walked behind him, the walking stick tapping the polished marble floors. It took _everything_ Michael had not to turn and look at the demon as he made his way in a slow arc to Michael's other side.

"So the dream time has finally decided to be productive," he said, "tell me you know about the cave."

Michael looked sharply at him before he could stop himself. The man threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

"So you do. I thought you wouldn't," he shrugged, "but hey, I've been wrong before."

It was eerie how similar the man was to Gabriel, but then again, they were two sides of the same coin. Perfect opposites, as if someone had taken a person and split them down the middle. The black haired man was even shorter then him, about the same height Gabriel was.

"So have you come here to taunt me Mammon, or do you have a purpose?"

"Tell me something Michael, how fast are you in this form?"

Michael looked at him sharply. Mammon slowly walked forward until he stood in front of him, his hands folded neatly on the top of the cane. Somewhere deep inside his gut, Michael felt a stab of something too close to fear for his liking and quickly redoubled his efforts to reign in his power. Mammon did not know where he was. If he kept his power low, they had a chance. If he fought him here, if he destroyed him like he ached too, they were screwed. Slowly the demon in front of him raised his eyes, the faint red glow echoing the spike of power Michael felt coming from Mammon.

"Four rings, four horseman," the demon said with a quirk of his lips, "that cage is gonna be awful lock without a key."

"Then I suppose," Michael said, "we'll just have to get it first."

"We'll see about that, brother," Mammon said raising his cane, "we'll see."

The cane struck the ground.

And just like that, Michael found himself sailing out of the dream and back to the world of the living.

With a ragged gasp he bolted upright on the cheap motel bed, his vessel drenched in sweat. Mammon's challenge rang through his ears, pulsing through him in time with his pounding heartbeat. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Michael took a deep breath and clasped his hands, fighting to reign in the power that surged through him. His Vessel was adjusting with frightening speed and if he did not reign in his power then they would be as good as discovered. Opening his eyes, Michael looked out at the moon drenched hotel room. Something was off, something was wrong. Pushing himself to his feet, Michael walked across the carpet, the still-damp hem of his jeans dragging against the synthetic fibers. Glancing in the bathroom, he made his way fully across the motel to the door before turning back around.

He was alone in the hotel room.

Gabriel was gone.


End file.
